The sensation was strange—a feeling of fragility, as if he were nothing more than a lump of flesh and dense bones wrapped in a rough blanket, while the sterilized air burned his inexperienced lungs and a white light pierced his eyelids, hurting him. he felt soft yet tense hands holding him against a chest that beat intensely, but he couldn't see her face clearly—it was just a blurry smudge with tired features—though he could feel her trembling
"It's a boy…" a male voice emerged from the darkest corner of the room; the click of a lighter and the metallic clink of surgical instruments could be heard. "This is… I have no idea, honestly; there are no protocols for recording something like this."
"Look at him," whispered another voice, young and icy. "His resting heart rate is too high for a newborn; the cardiovascular system is concerning, even if it's an anomaly… I don't think the others will look kindly on this."
The woman squeezed Hayate a little tighter, hiding the tiny ears on the baby's head beneath the blanket. A low growl rose from deep within her throat; it wasn't the sound of a well-mannered person but that of a mother ready to bite through metal if necessary, while her own ears pressed flat against her skull.
"####### please don't make this difficult" the door burst open, flooding the room with blinding fluorescent light. "Your gestation contract has ended. You knew that if an Umamusume with G1 potential wasn't born, the baby would be put down"
Several uniformed figures entered; they were security umamusumes—tall, burly, and ready to follow their superiors' orders.
"No!" Her mother's scream was not one of pain, but a declaration of war. "If you touch him, I swear there will be nothing left of this lab for your next tests! He is not a specimen!"
"He's trash #######," retorted the man in the corner, tossing a pair of latex gloves into the trash. "Keeping him is too expensive"
"Then get rid of me too," the mother's voice became a whisper. "I stopped running years ago, and my career ended with this birth, didn't it? I'm no longer of use to you. If he's trash, let the waste take its trash away. Erase our names, declare us dead because if you try to take him away from me, you'll have to kill me right here, and I doubt your investors want to clean up this mess today"
There was a tense silence broken only by the beeping of the monitors as the men exchanged a glance for a few moments before one of them simply sighed.
"Throw them out," one of them finally ordered. "Out of the facility, and make the weaning total—no pension, no record, and no identity. We'll have nothing to do with you from now on, then."
Hayate remembered the sensation of being dragged, but not away from her, but with her; the maternal warmth didn't disappear but became his only refuge as they were cast out into the cold of the rural night. Through his eyes, which still couldn't focus, he saw his mother fall to her knees in the mud of the clinic's back alley, hugging him with a force that made it hard for him to breathe.
She didn't cry as she kept her gaze fixed on the steel doors closing behind them with a sharp thud.
"You're strong…" she whispered in his ear with a love only a mother can give; her scent of mint and sweat overshadowed the smell of bleach. "You're my son, and if the world has no place for you, I always will."
Darkness began to envelop him as the sound grew distant; the cold wrapped around him as…
____________________________________________
"AAAHG!?"
Hayate's eyes snapped open, his breath coming in short, spasmodic gasps as he was covered in cold, sticky sweat that made the bandages on his torso feel like a red-hot iron burning into his abdomen, squeezing it to the point of suffocation.
He glanced to the side where the digital clock on the nightstand flashed repeatedly: 4:15 AM.
He lay motionless, his fingers dug into the sheets, listening to the silence of his room, Hayate knew that some people were capable of snatching a child from its mother's arms for a simple mistake; he tried to close his eyes to catch his breath, but the image of his mother's bleeding fingers scratching the linoleum and the rancid taste of moldy bread from his childhood were etched on the underside of his eyelids.
"Come on, come on, it was just a damn memory…" he whispered, though his own voice sounded strange to him; he attributed it to a dry mouth.
He sat up slowly, letting out a groan as his cracked ribs sent a jolt of pain with every movement. He ran a hand over his face, his fingers brushing the dry scab on the gash on his cheek; the sting was sharp, but he was grateful for it, physical pain was something he was used to; it reminded him that he was no longer on the street.
He trudged toward the bathroom; when he turned on the faucet, he splashed handfuls of ice-cold water on his face, trying to drown out the screams from his dream. When he looked up, he saw his reflection in the mirror, the Umashonen whom no one wanted, but who, by a twist of fate, was now under the wing of Symboli Rudolf, one of the most powerful women in the academy.
"Look at yourself…" he muttered to himself, staring at the deep dark circles under his eyes from lack of sleep. "A mistake, yes, but not anymore."
He looked at his training uniform, slung over the chair. The seams at the shoulders were torn, and there were mud and blood stains that the water from the night before hadn't managed to wash away completely. with trembling fingers, he picked up a rudimentary sewing kit; he had to patch up his uniform before heading to class. If Kanzaki or Air Groove saw that mess, Tracen's dream would surely be over, and he'd end up in the infirmary for a month or more.
"Thirteen days," he told himself, gritting his teeth as he forced the thread through the sturdy fabric. He finished getting dressed, hiding the bandages under his sweatshirt, and left the room silently. The hallway was cold as he stepped out earlier than usual.
—————————
Kanzaki was there, enveloped in cheap cigarette smoke, a stopwatch in one hand and his notebook in the other, looking busy reading something written in it.
"Kurogane, you're too slow," the old man growled without taking the cigarette out of his mouth. "Your right stride is compensating for the left, so either you're wearing heels or you're leaning too far to one side. Which is it?"
Hayate didn't answer or at least he couldn't; he was too busy trying to keep his lungs from collapsing. Inhale, inhale, exhale the demanding pace Kanzaki had set for him became torture as his chest strained against the tight bandages.
"I said speak up, brat!" Kanzaki stepped in front of him, forcing Hayate to come to a screeching halt. The pain in his chest was sharp enough that Hayate doubled over slightly, resting his hands on his knees as the steam from his breath escaped in erratic bursts.
"It was just… a bad move…" "While sleeping," Hayate lied, his voice raspy.
"You know, I seriously doubt even the least capable would fall for your lies." Kanzaki stepped closer and gave him a firm "tap" with two fingers right where his ribs ended.
"AGH! Are you serious?!" Hayate took two steps back, covering the spot where she'd touched him.
"A hairline crack, or maybe a clean fracture," Kanzaki said, looking at the bloodstain beginning to show through Hayate's sweatshirt. "Normally I'd tell you to put ice on it and come back in a week, but if the doctors see that, your debut is going to go to hell"
"What, seriously? Then what am I supposed to do?"
Kanzaki lifted his sweatshirt slightly to check the bandages, much to the boy's dismay. "Although it doesn't look too serious, injuries like this can be deceiving. If you want it to heal in less than a month, we'll have to cut back a bit on physical training."
Hayate, somewhat confused, just stared at Kanzaki, fighting the urge to kick him in the face hard enough to leave a mark. "But then how am I supposed to get stronger for the race?"
"Who said you only have to get your body stronger? Kid, from what I know, your grades so far are average at best, so you'd have to study more, both academically and to learn strategies on the track," Kanzaki replied as he straightened up.
"Aaahhg… I guess," Hayate replied with a resigned sigh.
"I'm glad you're so receptive, other Umamusume aren't usually like that."
________________________________________
In the shadow of the main grandstand, a pair of large black ears moved up and down in a gentle trot. Rice Shower had been there since 4:00, doing her own training so as not to disturb the others, though something had been keeping her distracted. She had been watching the new boy with a mixture of fear and a strange curiosity ever since she saw him arrive after his trainer.
She felt there was something about him that was somehow similar to her, though she couldn't quite put her finger on what it was.
With short, silent steps, Rice approached the edge of the track, carrying a small towel and a bottle of water for herself, and something else in her other hand. She stood there, trembling slightly, unsure whether to intervene, until she took a deep breath and decided to do so.
"U-um…" Her voice was barely a whisper, though Hayate could hear her, and Kanzaki noticed he'd heard someone as his ears perked up suddenly.
Both turned their heads; Hayate's gaze hardened out of pure instinct. As he pulled his sweatshirt down to hide the bandage, he looked closely at the Umamusume who had decided to approach, thinking she looked small and fragile because of her build.
"Rice… Rice brought something for the swelling," she said, holding out her arms to offer a small, high-quality medicinal patch, the kind the academy only gave to elite runners, which made Hayate stop seeing her as a frail little girl. "Rice saw… that you're in a lot of pain." Rice doesn't want you to be unhappy because of bad luck"
Kanzaki let out a dry laugh and put away his stopwatch. "Looks like you've got your first fan Kurogane, and one with better medical gear than you have." Rice just raised her hands, quickly dismissing the old man's words.
Hayate looked at the bandage and then at Rice, the kindness felt strange to him. He tried to see if there was any ulterior motive in her eyes but sensed nothing; he just felt that she, too, was carrying her own burden.
"I don't need charity, but I appreciate it," Hayate replied, though his hand trembled from the effort of staying upright.
"I-it's not charity!" insisted Rice Shower, stepping forward with unusual courage, though he immediately shrank back. "It's just… I know that if wounds aren't treated properly, they can get really bad and ruin people's careers. Please…"
Hayate sighed, a sound that ended in a grimace of pain, and took the bandage with a slight gesture of thanks. "Thanks gir-, Rice, I have to keep up with this old man, he shows no mercy, not even to those who are healthy."
Rice nodded quickly, gave a small bow, and vanished into the shadows as quickly as she had arrived, leaving behind a subtle scent of flowers.
_________________________________________
Kanzaki lit his cigarette again, looking in the direction Rice had gone.
"That girl knows what she's talking about; she's a godsend," said the old man, turning to Hayate. "Listen to me carefully, Kurogane. I'll cover for you; I won't say anything to Rudolf or Air Groove… for now, but don't think this is a break."
Kanzaki pointed to the track with his whistle.
"If you're injured, you're going to learn to run through the pain. You're going to use that patch the girl gave you, you're going to bandage yourself up again, and you're going to complete another five laps, but this time I want you to focus on distributing the impact. Got it?"
Hayate clenched the patch in his hand, Rice Shower's presence had left a strange taste in his mouth.
"Five laps? I thought you said you were going to cut back on the physical training," Hayate repeated, adjusting his sweatshirt.
"I am cutting back on the physical training. I'd normally make you do 10 or more laps because of your low stamina, but I'll go easy on you because of that injury. So let's get started right away, time waits for no one," Kanzaki replied, blowing his whistle.
Hayate returned to the track; the sun was beginning to peek over the horizon, tinging the sky with a soft orange as he ran. He felt the medicinal patch starting to cool his side, enduring the sharp pain as he kept running to finish the workout. After all, he still had to go to class, so he couldn't stay and rest all day. His figure reached one of the curves; in the distance, a pair of eyes were fixed on his back, watching him run before disappearing.