Thanks to Agnes Digital's assistance, Agnes Tachyon's leg care went smoothly.
Yet strangely enough, despite openly getting to touch Tachyon's legs up close and even receiving surprisingly cooperative behavior from her, Digital's mood didn't soar—in fact, it seed to worsen.
Kitahara had even ntally prepared himself for Digital to faint halfway through, nose bleeding while muttering sothing like "This is heavenly!", requiring him to step in. Instead, Digital unusually persevered through the whole process, although her hands trembled suspiciously afterward.
How odd.
But since nothing bad had actually happened—and this clearly wasn't his business anyway—Kitahara shrugged it off and quickly forgot about it.
Afterward, Tachyon rested briefly before beginning her warm-up, the icy glint in her eyes slowly fading.
Basic stretching, muscle relaxation, joint mobility, jogging at an easy pace…
As each exercise progressed, Tachyon steadily reached peak condition.
That should do it.
Kitahara checked Tachyon's state and glanced at his watch before signaling her to stop and leading her towards the racetrack.
As they walked together, approaching the point where they had to separate near the tunnel leading into the track, Kitahara hesitated briefly before once again offering a reminder.
"Rember to stick to the running thod I taught you. Don't overexert yourself—your future isn't decided by just this one basic race…"
He expected another casual dismissal from her, similar to earlier. Honestly, even he thought he'd repeated himself too often already.
Yet, unexpectedly, Tachyon listened quietly this ti without a hint of impatience or mockery. When they reached the split where they'd part ways, she stopped, turned to face him, and gave a sincere nod.
"Mm. Don't worry, guinea pig-kun. I'll rember."
Her sudden earnestness startled Kitahara for a second, making him wonder if she'd swallowed so bizarre potion before entering the track.
Thankfully, the next mont, Tachyon's seriousness cracked as a sly grin returned to her face.
"But speaking of that, guinea pig-kun, trainers usually give their Uma Musu a small reward after a victory, right…?"
Her smile grew broader, practically spelling out "be my test subject" across her face.
Kitahara sighed heavily, exasperated.
"You're raising a flag, you know? Don't cry if you end up losing."
"I won't lose. I'll follow your strategy perfectly and secure the win."
Her tone was unexpectedly serious again, eyes gleaming with hidden intent.
"So, as a trade-off, once I win, you have to promise one request."
Kitahara's face imdiately went pale.
"Give a break! My finances are bad enough already. If I end up hospitalized too…"
"No experints, and nothing related to money either," Tachyon quickly interrupted him, giving a playful wink and a mysterious smile. "Anyway, guinea pig-kun, you don't have the right to refuse. You'll find out soon enough."
"Well, see you afterward."
Without giving Kitahara any room to object, Tachyon sauntered off towards the racetrack, humming a cheerful tune as she swung her overly long sleeves.
Kitahara stood there dumbly for a mont before scratching his head in confusion. Though he didn't know exactly what she had planned, if it wasn't money or experintation, he supposed it couldn't be that dangerous. Deciding not to worry about it, he turned and headed to the trainer's viewing stand.
Several other trainers were already there, and after exchanging greetings, Kitahara took his place, casually observing the race venue.
Though called a "Basic Race," the scale was surprisingly large—probably due to the sheer number of races held here regularly. It even rivaled so major graded race tracks in size, with ample spectator seating, winner's podium, and fully-equipped facilities.
Even more surprising was the packed crowd in the stands.
Kitahara had initially assud that such minor competitions wouldn't attract many spectators, yet reality proved him wrong. The stands weren't just filled—they were overflowing, with people even standing due to lack of seating.
All this for a re Basic Race? Really?
Kitahara couldn't help but wonder.
However, that was simply due to his ignorance.
Having wandered around rural Tracen branches for so long, Kitahara knew that people in this world were passionate about Uma Musu racing—but he had underestimated just how deeply ingrained this passion was. He'd assud only professionals—trainers and Uma Musu themselves—would care so intensely.
Yet, if Uma Musu racing were rely an ordinary sport, how could Tracen wield such influence and authority?
He didn't realize that in this world, interest in Uma Musu racing wasn't limited to professionals—it was beloved by the vast majority of the population.
Passion, ambition, dreams…
Money, fa, honor…
Whether driven by emotion or practical interests, countless industries and careers revolved around Uma Musu, constantly boosting its influence.
Moreover, under certain influences, the image of Uma Musu had beco intertwined with the faith in the Three Goddesses, turning it into a positive cultural symbol. As a result, Uma Musu races had beco universally beloved events.
In all the years since his transmigration, Kitahara noticed subtle differences between this world and his original one. Among those differences was how noticeably better the collective ntal health here seed.
There were fewer wars—no world wars or prolonged conflicts had occurred since Uma Musu racing beca mainstream centuries ago.
Even societal issues were less severe. Take JP, for instance—in his previous world, Japan had been one of the most stressed and repressed societies, plagued with high suicide rates and isolated NEETs.
Yet here, while competitive pressures remained, society felt noticeably less oppressive. Social fairness, wealth distribution, regional developnt, governance, and corruption had all significantly improved compared to his mories.
When JP's population statistics bureau recently made an error, instead of offering a superficial bowing apology, they swiftly fired multiple high-ranking officials—including two deputy directors—not even needing pressure from Tracen to act.
If sothing like that happened in his old world, they'd likely have dismissed a couple of temporary workers as scapegoats and called it done.
Seeing so many improvents, Kitahara had to admit that the Three Goddesses probably played a role—particularly through Uma Musu racing.
By amplifying the sport's influence, it beca a tool for promoting positive social values, subtly guiding society toward improvent.
Granted, looking at Tracen's current ssy internal situation, it was hard to believe Uma Musu could convey positive ssages. But things weren't that simple.
Outside Tracen, Uma Musu truly lived up to their reputation as beloved beings. Gentle, kind, optimistic, helpful, morally upright—with cri rates close to zero and often aiding neighbors with difficult tasks, they were adored by communities.
Neighborhoods with Uma Musu present often had better community health and quality of life, prompting developers to offer incentives specifically to attract Uma Musu residents.
It seed absurd, as though external Uma Musu and those inside Tracen were entirely different species—but that wasn't true.
It was simply a difference in growth stages.
Young Uma Musu were basically human-like girls, with limited physical strength. Mature Uma Musu, having adapted to their power, were stable, respected, and beneficial community mbers.
The critical transitional period, the only dangerous phase of their lives, was during their rapid growth and awakening—the exact stage Tracen managed. Leaving them uncontrolled during this ti posed a risk to society and the Uma Musu themselves.
Thus, even a minor Basic Race attracted huge crowds because ordinary people genuinely loved Uma Musu and their competitions. Affordable tickets allowed fans, journalists, trainers seeking inspiration, and Uma Musu industry workers to gather, enjoying races or witnessing future legends.
Kitahara, oblivious to all these nuances, quickly refocused on the racetrack.
Just as he turned, Tachyon erged from the tunnel, imdiately drawing everyone's attention.
The reason was simple, her strikingly elegant racing outfit.
Though racing outfits seed standard equipnt, not all Uma Musu could easily afford them. Custom outfits required skilled designers, who were scarce—most Uma Musu settled for mass-produced alternatives.
The audience, familiar with racing culture, instantly recognized the exceptional quality of Tachyon's attire, as did the other racers.
"Must be so rich family's young lady..." an Uma Musu murmured enviously, quickly flushing with embarrassnt when Tachyon's gaze turned toward her.
"Ah, sorry—I just ant your outfit is lovely..."
"I know." Tachyon nodded, a smug grin forming. "But I'm no heiress. My silly trainer got it for ."
"Your trainer?" another Uma Musu asked curiously. "Is he from so wealthy family? A racing outfit like yours is hard to get..."
"Nope. Just an ordinary trainer. Actually, he was holess and nearly starving not long ago."
She looked toward the trainer stands, waving her sleeves cheerfully like a child proudly showing off a new toy.
"See that one—third from the left, wearing the cheapest suit there."
Her description was already obvious, but when the others looked, the truth stood out even more clearly. Surrounded by neatly dressed professionals, Kitahara's cheap suit was impossible to miss.
Rather than ridicule, the other trainers showed understanding and sympathy. So even began suggesting affordable brands, sharing their own experiences from leaner tis.
But on the racetrack, the Uma Musu competitors stared enviously between Kitahara and Tachyon, the disparity between his cheap attire and her elegant outfit creating a strange jealousy.
"So lucky..." several murmured quietly, realizing Tachyon had simply been showing off.
Yet they couldn't truly resent her—after all, who wouldn't proudly flaunt such a devoted trainer?
"But... a racing outfit alone doesn't guarantee victory..." one girl mumbled weakly, feeling defeated already.
Tachyon's playful waving slowed, her expression growing serious.
"You're right. An outfit isn't everything."
She glanced confidently at the stands, eyes filled with determination.
"So I'll prove he made the right choice…"
"By ans of victory."
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