The Student Council office was a place you wouldn't want to go if they were the ones calling you in, since it usually meant either something very good or something very bad.
The air smelled of freshly brewed bergamot and waxed wood, while everything seemed to be almost perfectly aligned, adding weight to an atmosphere designed almost to intimidate anyone lacking temperament or resilience. At that moment, the only sound was the click... click... click... of Air Groove's fingers on his book.
Hayate stood before the main desk, stiff as if he were being accused of something he had, in fact, done, crossing his bound hands in an attempt not to be disrespectful. Air Groove did not look up immediately. His amethyst-colored eyes scanned bar graphs glowing bright red. Finally, he exhaled a sigh heavy with the kind of fatigue only perfect administrators know.
"Kurogane," she said at last, her voice clear and sharp. "I've reviewed the reports from the Ritto dormitory cafeteria for the last three days. I've seen system errors, human failings, supplier crises but, I didn't expect to see a second black hole with a student ID number"
Hayate scratched the back of her neck, feeling the collar of her uniform tighten a little more than usual. "Look, Vice President, I understand that the numbers look strange, but I already told the principal: my body doesn't function like a normal Umamusume's. After what I went through before I got here, I learned to eat whenever I can. My metabolism is pretty high, and besides, if I want to maintain muscle mass for sprints, I need fuel… a lot of fuel"
"There's a difference between 'metabolic need' and 'budget destabilization,'" Air Groove retorted, slamming her notebook down on the desk and sliding it so Hayate could see. "Your individual consumption has exceeded the quarterly budget allocated to the first-year track and field clubs. In just three days, you've devoured what a training squad would consume in a week of competition."
She stood up, circling the desk with unhurried steps while watching him, stopping just inches away from him, forcing him to hold her gaze she was taller than him simply because he was sitting in the chair.
"Principal Akikawa thinks your appetite is a sign of 'boundless vitality' and an 'indomitable spirit,' but I'm the one who has to explain to the finance department why we've had to order three extra truckloads of supplies after hours," she said, folding her arms across her chest. "And since you don't have personal funds to cover the overage, and since several students have filed formal complaints about your… eating habits… both the president and I have decided on a solution."
Hayate clenched his teeth. "So? Are you going to make me run extra laps, or are you going to ban me from the dining hall?" he asked, a hint of defiance in his voice.
"That would be too easy for someone with your stamina, Kurogane," a faint smile appeared on Air Groove's face. "The kitchen staff at Ritto Dormitory is overwhelmed. The workload is Herculean, and no one wants to take on double shifts. Starting today, after every technical training session, you'll report to the Ritto dorm kitchen to help with prep, loading, cleaning, and serving"
"The kitchen?!" Hayate almost blurted out what he was thinking at that moment, but her tone stopped him. "Vice President, please! I've lived alone most of my life; I know what it's like to go hungry, but my culinary skills are limited to not burning the water for ramen. My hands are made for fight, not for... chopping parsley."
"Then you'll learn the value of precision and sacrifice," she declared, turning to return to her mahogany throne. "If you're capable of dodging a Kiso-uma's blows in a dirty ring, I'm sure you're capable of handling a kitchen knife without losing a finger or two. If you prove you can become a logistical asset and stabilize overall consumption, I'll consider removing the food debt record from your file that says—"
Just then, Hayate's stomach emitted a deep, rumbling, prolonged growl that shattered the solemn atmosphere of the office.
Air Groove closed her eyes and massaged her temples, clearly suffering from a headache. "Get out of here, Kurogane. Dinner service starts in half an hour, and if there's a single gram of protein missing from the students' plates because you decided to 'sample' the food, I assure you that tomorrow's training will be done with lead weights on your ankles—"
Hayate remained silent, swallowing a witty retort as he rose from his chair and nodded, turning and retreating as his horseshoes clattered with every step.
As he descended the stairs toward the service wing, a mixture of irritation and resignation bubbled in his chest, but a more practical thought crossed his mind. "Well. . . if I'm the one cooking, I'm the first to see the food. Maybe this isn't a total defeat."
What Hayate didn't know was that he was about to encounter forces of nature whose hunger made his own seem like nothing more than a mere midnight whim.
_____________________
The service wing smelled of industrial detergent, ginger, and hot steam, and as he pushed open the doors, the heat made him pause for a moment at the sight of giant pots bubbling, knives chopping various fruits, and steamers whistling like mad.
"You! The new guy the Empress mentioned!" roared the head chef. "Put on that apron and get those pots moving! If the rice sticks, you're scraping the bottom!"
Hayate grumbled, but obeyed. The white apron was so tight across his chest that he feared the buttons might fly off like projectiles at any moment, and he took his place in front of one of the workstations, looking around until he spotted them.
At a table off to the side, oblivious to the noise and steam, sat two figures who looked like they'd stepped out of a fairy tale—or a nightmare for any chef.
"Wow! This looks delicious!" exclaimed Special Week, who had before her a mountain of rice topped with what appeared to be dozens of glazed carrots.
Next to him stood a young woman with gray hair and a blank expression, her hands moving rapidly as she shoveled food into her mouth in a steady, uninterrupted stream. Oguri Cap
"Hey…" Hayate whispered, approaching with a tray of refills. "Are you sure you can eat all that? I've seen men cry over half that plate."
Special Week paused, a grain of rice on her cheek, and looked at him curiously.
"Ah! You're the new student everyone's been talking about! The Umashonen! Don't worry about us. Running takes a lot of energy, and today's hill training was intense… phew, I need to recover every calorie to be the best in Japan!" said Special Week with a smile between her cheeks full of food.
Hayate shifted his gaze to Oguri Cap, who hadn't batted an eye at his presence; she simply lifted an empty bowl and held it out in front of Hayate.
"Another," Oguri said dryly.
"'Another'? Girl, you just ate what looks like the entire class's supply," Hayate retorted.
"Another," the gray-haired girl repeated.
Seeing that the girl wasn't lowering the bowl, Hayate sighed and filled it again.
As Hayate worked, he began to notice something strange about Oguri: despite the enormous amount of food, she didn't seem to get full. It was like looking at a black hole in the shape of an Umamusume. He remembered that some people said he looked like another Oguri, but seeing her, he realized the difference between the two was vast.
"You have an interesting way of cooking," Oguri Cap said suddenly, breaking his silence as he chewed on a carrot. "You use your body weight, not just your arm."
Hayate paused with the knife halfway through cutting another carrot. "Wait, seriously?"
"You can tell by the taste," Oguri added, closing his eyes for a second. "It's a strong flavor; I like it."
Special Week nodded vigorously, her cheeks puffed out like a hamster's. "It's true! It tastes great! Hey, Kurogane-san, you should cook for us all the time! With food like this, we're sure to win every race!"
Hayate felt a slight tingle of pride that he immediately tried to suppress. "Don't get used to it. The truth is, I'm here as punishment. As soon as I pay my debt to the Empress, I'll be back on the track to leave you in the dust" but as he said that, he couldn't help but smile slightly when he saw Oguri Cap finally finish his tenth plate and clasp his hands together in thanks.
"Gochisousama deshita," Oguri whispered, his tail wagging slightly from side to side in satisfaction.
However, the peace in the kitchen was short-lived. A bloodcurdling scream from the warehouse manager echoed from the back of the building, shattering the atmosphere of camaraderie.
"THE RICE! THE MAIN SUPPLY HAS BEEN CUT OFF AND THE GIRLS FROM THE CANOPUS TEAM ARE ARRIVING FOR DINNER! IF THERE'S NO RICE IN FIVE MINUTES, THIS WILL BE A MASSACRE!"
Hayate put down the knife and wiped his hands on his apron, watching Special Week, who was panicking, and Oguri Cap, who was already eyeing the leftovers on Special's plate with hunger.
The head chef, a man who usually prided himself on having nerves of steel, was on the verge of a nervous breakdown as he frantically pointed at the control panel for the supply system.
"The pressure sensor on the main silo has failed!" he shouted, pulling at the few strands of hair he had left. "There are five hundred hungry Umamusumes out there, and if the rice doesn't reach the steamers in five minutes, this place will be reduced to ashes! Has anyone seen the maintenance crew?!"
Hayate, who was finishing drying a giant pot, watched the scene with a calm born of having to improvise dinners with landfill scraps. He looked out the window toward the central silo, a reinforced building rising about four hundred meters away, across a stretch of grass and gravel.
"How much rice do you need to hold off the first wave?" Hayate asked, adjusting the straps of his uniform, which were already begging for mercy under the weight of his muscles.
"At least eight fifty-kilogram sacks to start with!" replied the chef. "But there's no time to bring the motorized cart; the keys are in…"
"I don't need keys, just give me three minutes," Hayate interrupted, dramatically tossing aside her apron as she headed out to fetch the sacks of rice.
As Hayate headed out the back door toward the storage room, her mind wandered to the rumors she'd heard in the underground ring about Tracen Academy, where the veterans claimed that being an Umamusume trainer was the profession with the highest risk of disability in all of Japan.
As if to confirm those words, as he ran past a young human trainer being pushed in a wheelchair by an Umamusume who was apologizing profusely for having, as he overheard, "hugged him a little too tightly" after winning a race.
"Now I understand why the wheelchair market is so thriving here. If a 45-kilogram girl can fracture an adult man's pelvis just out of affection, what chance do I have of surviving if I get caught up in a food riot?" Hayate thought as he ran toward the food depot.
He reached the central warehouse in a sprint that would have left any human breathless, but for him it was merely a warm-up; he forced the lock open using only his physical strength and entered to find 50-kilogram sacks of rice stacked against one another.
In a normal situation, an Umamusume would use her leg strength to carry two or four, but Hayate didn't have time to make two trips.
"If I can't carry them, I'll have to step up my training again," he muttered to himself as he got into position, grabbed the first bag, and slung it over his shoulder; the second went over the other shoulder, then the third and fourth, and finally all the rest.
Hayate began to march, each step sinking his horseshoes several centimeters into the academy's lawn; his pectoral and lat muscles were so swollen from the effort that the seams of his uniform finally gave way, tearing at the shoulders with a sound of ripping fabric that was music to his ears.
He walked past a library window where a group of students was studying for their exams; the silence was absolute as they watched an Umashonen pass by, carrying eight hundred pounds of rice, sweating like an animal and with a murderous glare.
"Is… is that some kind of secret student council training?" whispered one of the girls, adjusting her glasses in amazement.
He entered the kitchen and dropped the eight sacks onto the stainless steel table with a boom! that he swore slightly bent the metal of the table.
"There's your rice," Hayate gasped, as steam rose from his hot skin and his ears drooped slightly from extreme exhaustion.
Special Week was on the verge of tears until she saw the food arrive. "You did it, Kurogane-san!"
Oguri Cap, who hadn't moved from his chair, looked at the sacks of rice and then at Hayate. For the first time, there was a flicker of something resembling emotion in his eyes as he watched them start cooking again.
"Strong," Oguri said with his usual brevity. "You've got strength in your arms and a good grip, incredible."
Hayate flinched slightly, wondering if she would say anything else; fortunately, she was only interested in getting the rice to start boiling.
However, his relief was short-lived, as from the entrance to the dining hall, an icy, authoritative voice cut through the air, causing even the cooks to snap to attention.
"Kurogane… what happened to your uniform?"
It was Air Groove, and she didn't seem particularly impressed by his heroic feat; rather, she was staring intently at Hayate's torn back and the exposed muscles that were still trembling from the effort.
The silence that followed Air Groove's question was as heavy as the four hundred kilograms of rice Hayate had just set down on the steel table; steam from the pots floated in the air, enveloping the Vice President's figure.
Her eyes slowly drifted down from Hayate's sweaty face to his shoulders. The fabric of the uniform, designed to withstand the strides of the fastest athletes, was in tatters; several threads hung like rags, revealing the musculature of Hayate's back, still flushed and quivering from the effort.
"Kurogane," Air Groove repeated, stepping forward so forcefully that even the head chef took a step back. "I gave you a uniform that represents the honor and history of this academy. Not a disposable garment for your displays of brute force. Do you have any idea how much the principal's official tailor charges?"
Hayate exhaled a steamy sigh, trying to catch his breath. "Look, Vice President… it was either the uniform or the stomachs of five hundred umas, and if I'd waited for the cart, they'd be cleaning up the wreckage of a kitchen destroyed by a sea of umamusumes right now. I just chose the lesser of two evils."
Air Groove watched him in silence, seriously considering whether to send him to intensive re-education alongside the group of Umamusumes who had "kidnapped" their trainers last week.
"That's a poor excuse for someone who strives for excellence. Don't ever make decisions that involve damage to institutional property without informing a superior," said Air Groove, but before she could deliver her sentence, she heard a voice that made her close her eyes as she quickly accepted her fate.
"Oh, come on, Air Groove, don't be so harsh. A torn uniform is an acceptable price to pay to avoid the destruction of the dining hall"
Symboli Rudolf walked into the kitchen and stopped in front of Hayate, eyeing the sacks of rice and then the torn back of the boy's uniform; an enigmatic smile, the kind that always preceded a bad joke appeared on his lips, much to his partner's misfortune.
"You've shown some… 'overwhelming' strength, Hayate," Rudolf said, crossing his arms proudly. "I'm glad to see you haven't been 'fried' from trying so hard"
Air Groove closed her eyes, forcing herself not to pinch the bridge of her nose with her fingers; the headache caused by the President's puns was growing stronger by the minute. "President… please, we are dealing with an act of aesthetic indiscipline and destruction of school property."
"We're dealing with a young man who managed to carry four hundred kilograms on his shoulders despite having just enrolled," Rudolf retorted, ignoring the suffering he was causing his right-hand man. "Hayate, Oguri Cap seems to be… well, almost satisfied, which is a miracle, to tell the truth. For now, we'll overlook the state of your uniform, but tomorrow's training will be different, in addition to your shift in the kitchen until you've paid off the food expenses you've incurred these past few days."
Rudolf approached Hayate and placed a hand on his shoulder. His touch was firm, reminding him that, though he was kind, he was still The Emperor. "When you finish your shift, wait for me outside the dining hall; I need to discuss a few things with you."
"Of course, President," Hayate replied, receiving a nod from her before she left with Air Groove.
Hayate moved between the stations: serving, scraping, setting out trays, clearing them away, and starting over, helping the cooks serve food to the five hundred hungry Umamusume. When most of the kitchen had returned to a manageable rhythm, a soft voice called to him from the dining hall entrance after most of the people had left. The President was waiting for him, leaning against the wall; upon seeing him, she smiled and simply gestured.
"Come with me," she said.
She led him down a secluded hallway where the tiles beneath his feet vibrated with every step and the lighting was dim. Upon entering a small room adjacent to her office, Rudolf closed the door and, for the first time that night, let his expression be his own, without any pretense.
"Sit down, Hayate," he murmured. "I want to speak in confidence."
The boy obeyed, his legs still trembling slightly. Rudolf leaned back in his chair and looked at him with that mixture of curiosity and warm indifference he had whenever he saw something potentially useful.
"You've solved a logistical problem head-on," she said. "You saw a gap and filled it where some wouldn't, and many others would have done so in ways that would have created problems for us."
Hayate wiped his forehead with his hand as he listened to what she was saying. "It just happened, President. I didn't think about the administrative consequences."
Rudolf nodded without reproaching him. "There's something that worries me more than the rice." His voice dropped slightly. "Your profile doesn't fit any of our molds. It's not just that you're an Umashonen, nor is it your history in the alleys next to that ring. The director mentioned it to me when she handed me your file along with Air Groove's. it's something else... a constant in your physiological data. Tachyon has sent me a preliminary summary; you have unusually high output power, rapid recovery, and oxygen efficiency that doesn't match your formal training time"
Hayate simply listened in silence, as it wasn't the first time someone had pointed out that his physique "didn't fit," but hearing it from the man who won the Japanese Triple Crown was different.
"Don't be afraid," Rudolf continued. "I'm not going to examine you as if you were an experiment or a guinea pig, I'm not Tachyon, but I also won't let something exceptional go without guidance, since Tracen doesn't waste talent… nor does he let it grow blindly."
Rudolf's hand brushed the back of his chair, a gesture of compassion as he looked at Hayate.
"I want you to work with a trainer, someone with practical judgment who understands both the official tracks and the back alleys because I want you to be protected," he said. "And I want you to learn how to turn that initial power into a sustained run."
Hayate felt a wave of relief wash over him as the pressure in his chest eased. "Who is it?" he asked.
Rudolf smiled slightly, showing him a piece of paper with a name and more details. "Kanzaki Jiro. I think you know him, don't you?"
"Yeah… he helped me a little in the ring and welcomed me," said Hayate, looking at the old man's face on the piece of paper.
"Perfect. He knows the ring and the black market. He's got the savvy for what you've been doing at night and a knack for the ring, too… He respects you a lot, and believe me, that respect is pretty valuable around here."
Hayate simply nodded. "I'll do whatever it takes."
Rudolf looked at him calmly. "Good. But one more thing: if anyone from outside comes looking for you over any matter related to the ring"—and he emphasized "anyone" with intent—"come to me. Don't risk a public fight out of pride, because we'll look out for you here, as far as discipline allows."
Hayate sensed that this warning wasn't a promise of immunity but rather an institutional contract, which he accepted with a bow. "Thank you," he said, in a simple voice.
He left the office with a strange feeling—on one hand, recognition, and on the other, the presence of eyes that now knew his name. Upon reaching the entrance to his building, Hayate stopped short as his ears pricked up at the sight of a piece of paper stuck to his room's door. It had a lingering scent that wasn't from here, but it was a smell he recognized instantly: cigarette smoke, sweat, and a damp stench. All of that was something he knew well enough, since it was the smell of the ring where he had been.
He unfolded the note carefully.
'Don't forget where you came from.'
There was no signature, only a semicircular mark in the corner. Nor were there any instructions, a time, or a direct threat. Hayate closed his eyes with a sigh, thinking about how Tracen had given him a certain refuge—there was food, guidance, and friends—but the world to which he belonged had no language for the courtesy of the academy.
When he entered his room, he left the note in the drawer next to the plastic number they'd given him in the ring.
He turned on the light, glanced at himself in the mirror for a second, and noticed the tears in his suit: the seam on his shoulder was still open, even though he'd packed the bandages in his backpack. With another sigh, he sat down on the bed and closed his eyes for a moment, letting fatigue lull him to sleep.
But he didn't fall asleep without going over three things in his head: that Kanzaki would be his mentor, which could tie his life at the academy to the underground; and that Rudolf had taken notice of him, and he knew that could open some doors for him.
He lay down on the bed, turning off the light while thinking about where he would have to go tomorrow, and fell asleep like a log.