Thus, due to Eclipse's sudden request, what should have been a duo's outing turned into a group of three.
Agnes Tachyon seed to be in high spirits, chatting cheerfully with Eclipse along the way.
Eclipse, too, appeared more at ease than usual. Although she didn't speak much, she consistently replied to Tachyon's conversation, occasionally even answering so questions.
The only unhappy one was Kitahara Sota, who walked silently at the front, heaving a deep sigh while listening to their cheerful voices behind him. As he contemplated his increasingly gloomy future, he couldn't help but think bitterly:
What sins did I commit in a past life to deserve this?
As he sighed inwardly, the trio smoothly arrived at their planned destination.
And then, the shopping began.
To avoid attracting unnecessary attention and causing panic, Agnes Tachyon had changed out of her signature lab coat.
Instead, she wore a soft, off-the-shoulder purple sweater paired with sleek black pants, a faint smile curving her lips. Without her usual mad-scientist attire, she practically transford into a different person, even radiating a subtle charm.
Eclipse, anwhile, remained dressed as always in black from head to toe—black earmuffs, black stockings, varying shades of black fabric throughout. Despite its simplicity, combined with her delicate face and unique aura, it created a strikingly elegant impression.
Accompanied by Kitahara, who wore a sour expression up front, the group naturally drew the attention of passersby.
Several people even mistook them for famous racing Uma Musu, approaching eagerly for autographs and photos—though, of course, they were politely turned down.
Amidst the commotion, the trio completed their tour through the shopping district, visited a few supermarkets, and ended up with bags filled with their respective items.
Agnes Tachyon carried the least, yet the most expensive. Her black sealed bag emitted a faintly ominous aura, obviously containing items best not examined too closely.
Then again, most of her experint materials were supplied by Tracen Academy or purchased via interdiaries, so anything she needed to buy personally naturally couldn't be openly reported to the academy.
Eclipse had gathered a dium-sized bag filled with incense, bathing supplies, tail-care products, and other small items missing from the dorm—combining into quite a hefty pack.
As for Kitahara…
Folders, notebooks, clipboards, pen refills, and a variety of miscellaneous items—mostly supplies needed for his work as a trainer, along with essentials missing from his dorm room, and various n's clothes. Altogether, he carried two large bags, plus a sizable clipboard tucked under his arm.
Eclipse initially tried to help him, but Kitahara refused—he knew the next stop would be the real challenge.
The clothing store.
Specifically, one catering exclusively to Uma Musu.
Because of their unique physical requirents, Uma Musu clothing couldn't simply be sold alongside regular won's apparel. Instead, a specialized industry had developed, complete with exclusive brands and stores.
But the store Kitahara led them to wasn't a trendy brand outlet—in fact, it looked quite shabby compared to the shiny shops lining the main street.
"Um… Guinea pi—I an, Trainer-san," Agnes Tachyon began hesitantly, eyeing the rundown storefront skeptically.
"If you're short on money, I have so extra funds I can lend you. Surely, you're aware of how important proper clothing is to a racing Uma Musu's health and performance—"
"Just go in and see," Kitahara said impatiently, pushing open the door without bothering to explain further.
Contrary to its unimpressive exterior, the inside was astonishingly pleasant, even making Tachyon montarily stunned.
Warm lighting illuminated neatly arranged displays containing various Uma Musu apparel, each piece clearly crafted with superior quality materials far beyond what standard retail offered.
"You again, brat?" ca the gruff voice of an elderly Uma Musu from behind the counter. She lifted her wrinkled face, glaring halfheartedly at Kitahara. "You've probably made good money at Tracen by now, haven't you? Don't expect any discounts from this old lady today."
"That's fine," Kitahara replied lightly. "Tracen's cafeteria is free anyway—I can afford to spend every bit of what I earn now."
He shrugged, adding sincerely, "Besides, you've helped so much over these years, granny. It's about ti I paid it forward."
"Oh, you flatter once and suddenly your tail's all perked up," she chuckled lightly before continuing seriously, "Whatever. Just rember to save a little—knowing your personality, you probably won't last long at Tracen before getting kicked out. Don't co crying poverty to again when that happens. Now go pick what you want yourself."
Having said her piece, the elderly Uma Musu returned her attention to the garnt in her hands, no longer acknowledging Kitahara.
Once their conversation finished, Tachyon curiously nudged Eclipse, whispering softly:
"Who's that?"
"A granny who helped us in the past. She originally lived in the countryside, making custom clothing for Uma Musu. Her craftsmanship is exceptional, but since everything is handmade, she can't produce much. Plus, she dislikes fa, so very few people know about her," Eclipse explained succinctly before joining Kitahara to select outfits.
Seizing this opportunity, Tachyon wandered the store, examining clothing curiously.
Her fingertips gently brushed across various garnts, feeling a craftsmanship utterly distinct from mass-produced brand-na clothing, her eyes widening with genuine astonishnt.
She admitted inwardly—she'd underestimated this store.
Who could have imagined that such an outstanding Uma Musu tailor was hidden away in this unassuming place?
Unlike other Uma Musu who focused solely on training, as a scientist, Agnes Tachyon had systematically studied trainer-related topics—including an interesting elective course:
The science of Uma Musu clothing design.
Unlike ordinary won's clothing, apparel for Uma Musu—especially racers—had stringent practical requirents. Quality and durability were basics, but weight, elasticity, friction performance, and even decorative elents like ribbons had to be carefully considered, sotis directly influencing race outcos.
It sounded absurd, especially considering so Uma Musu raced in elaborate gowns, cloaks, or even high heels—utterly unscientific at first glance.
And indeed, it was unscientific.
Tachyon herself had struggled with this paradox, until her research brought her into contact with certain truths:
The Three Goddesses truly existed—or at least their influence was tangible—and the world contained aspects hidden from ordinary understanding.
The existence of Uma Musu, therefore, couldn't yet be fully explained by current science alone, subtly bordering on mysticism.
Part of Uma Musu clothing theory drew from this very "mystical" foundation, explaining its superficially nonsensical nature. Tachyon's own bizarre pharmaceutical abilities similarly derived from this obscure base.
Yet, at this mont, that wasn't her main concern.
Touching the clothes before her, Tachyon's curiosity burned brighter.
To ordinary Uma Musu, these clothes might rely seem of decent quality. Yet, to an expert like her, each garnt was practically a masterpiece.
Science and mysticism weren't opposites—rely two sides of the sa coin. Science was mysticism with explained principles; mysticism was science not yet fully understood, yet directly applicable.
Typically, Uma Musu racing clothing fell into two categories:
One, science-based with slight mystical assistance, resulting in simple and efficient designs.
The other, primarily mystical, slightly adjusted to scientific logic—yielding flamboyant gowns, wedding dresses, even heels.
Yet, these clothes before her achieved an astonishing balance between both extres, each enhancing the other without conflict.
Truthfully, a designer of this caliber could easily beco an esteed guest at major Uma Musu families, like the Symboli or jiro households, serving as a personal tailor to their prized daughters.
Why would soone this skilled remain hidden in such obscurity?
"Because I think clothes are ant for wearing, but certain fools always want to add unnecessary nonsense," a weathered voice interrupted suddenly, full of disdain.
"I despise outsiders trying to instruct , especially clueless idiots. Sick of their stupidity, I retreated to the countryside—and eventually t that brat over there."
Startled, Tachyon raised her head, discovering the elderly Uma Musu had quietly moved to stand beside her.
"Hello, Granny," Tachyon greeted politely.
"No need," the old woman waved dismissively. "When you're old, you babble too much. You have good eyes. Pick sothing if you like. Also…"
She glanced over Tachyon thoughtfully.
"You're from Tracen HQ, right? Are you that brat's current Uma Musu?"
"…Yes."
"Then let him pick for you. He might be worthless elsewhere, but he's surprisingly sharp at this—even better than , the designer herself," she said bluntly. "No need for embarrassnt. Use your resources shalessly—thin skin is a woman's worst enemy."
"Understood," Tachyon answered easily.
As the infamous mad scientist of Tracen, Agnes Tachyon wasn't easily embarrassed—after all, modesty wouldn't have allowed her to create those terrifying potions.
If this clearly extraordinary elder praised Kitahara so highly, Tachyon naturally wanted to test the trainer's skills for herself.
At this mont, Kitahara and Eclipse returned, greeting the elderly Uma Musu briefly.
"Granny, I'd like to ask you sothing," Kitahara began carefully.
She gave him an impatient look. "Spit it out already."
"Could you design custom race outfits for my team's Uma Musu?"
The elderly Uma Musu imdiately asked, "How many sets?"
Kitahara paused to consider:
Eclipse and Tokai Teio were essential; Tachyon was nearing competition; Special Week and Oguri Cap were debuting soon; and even Grass Wonder…
It's better to be prepared.
Decision made, Kitahara answered:
"Six sets."
Silence.
"Too many? I can reduce—"
"No, it's fine," the elderly Uma Musu interrupted gently, pity clearly in her eyes.
"It's fine for , but…for you, it might be too many."
Kitahara: "…?"
They're not for , why should that matter?!
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