A few days later.
Tracen Academy, Student Council room.
Symboli Rudolf slowly set down her pen. Beside her, the documents had already piled into a small mountain.
Summer training camp, the approach of holidays, the flood of transfer students—her workload these days had been absurdly heavy. She was busy from dawn to dusk, and nearly two weeks had passed since she last went to see Kitahara Sota.
Fortunately, now, with September's arrival, Tracen Academy was finally, officially entering holiday.
Granted, even during holidays, plenty of Uma Musume and trainers stayed at the Academy to keep competing.
But still—a holiday was a holiday. No matter how much people pushed, things wouldn't pile up like usual.
And even if something did happen, since it was holiday, it usually took place outside campus, beyond Student Council jurisdiction. Meaning, for this stretch of time, the Council could relax a little.
But what really eased Symboli Rudolf wasn't just the Council.
The Symboli family, perhaps due to her earlier maneuvering, had also been uncharacteristically quiet.
She had thought, even if she used Kitahara Sota as a shield, at most she could only rely on that old woman's taste for watching others suffer, enough to shake off one arranged marriage meeting. Otherwise, everything would stay the same.
But the reality—was different.
Symboli Speed, even knowing she "had a boyfriend," still declared: if it was only a shallow relationship, then the marriage talks would go on.
But since she did have a boyfriend, the meetings could be delayed. If in the meantime the relationship solidified, the meetings could be canceled. Otherwise, merely postponed.
So this was to push their "relationship" to progress faster—so she could enjoy the spectacle sooner?
Rudolf suspected as much, but didn't care too deeply.
Her main goal had always been to buy time. Since that was achieved, there was no need to fuss over details.
And though the matchmaking wasn't entirely shaken off, in other respects—ever since she dragged Kitahara Sota into this—things had improved significantly.
For instance, normally around this time, that old woman Symboli Speed would never interfere with her core work, but she would seize any spare moment to disgust her.
Snide messages. Adding minor busywork when she had a lull. Tossing in little troubles—harmless to the big picture, but draining all the same...
But this time was different.
This time, Symboli Speed hadn't disgusted her at all. On the contrary—when she was busiest, she even opened certain Symboli family resources to her, and dispatched people at Tracen headquarters to assist her work, easing her load.
Rudolf had some idea of her intention.
Of course—it was to let her finish early, to free up time to go "nurture" her relationship with Kitahara Sota, to accelerate matters, to watch the joke sooner.
But Rudolf didn't mind. After all, she was the one benefiting.
And besides—if that old woman wanted to watch her joke, wasn't she herself harboring the same thought, just reversed?
With that thought, Rudolf tidied her desk, passed the finished files to other Council members, and left the room.
Then, for the first time in a long while, she stepped into the training grounds, walked the familiar path straight to Kitahara Sota.
Only—before she even reached him, before she'd come to a full stop, she noticed something was off.
Normally, his Uma Musume would leap at any chance to close in on him. Finding excuses to chat, to cling. As though they wished they could live at his side.
But today—forget talking or clinging. They were circling around him, deliberately avoiding approach. Whenever their eyes met his, they darted away at once, gaze evasive.
This... what was going on?
Rudolf, curious, leaned in and asked quietly.
And at her question, Kitahara Sota—already looking melancholy—only grew more so, a helplessness flickering in his eyes.
"Let's just say... there was an accident with an experiment."
"...Tachyon made another dangerous thing?"
"Not exactly dangerous. It was effective, actually. Just—for me, the drug's effect and side-effect were... hm, troublesome."
That had been on the final day of training camp.
He had agreed to help Tachyon test medicine. During camp, he had already tried several. Each had minor side-effects, mostly glowing lights, nothing serious.
And since the Agnes Digital incident, Tachyon had kept things conservative with him—basic enhancers only.
Boosting stamina, strength—small effects, small risks.
Kitahara had even considered buying some to keep on hand. So, he readily agreed to one last test.
Then, he drank the vial that enhanced perception, with the side-effect of obsessive compulsion.
To be fair, the drug worked well. Observation sharpened significantly. For trainers with OCD already, it was pure upside.
But the problem was—the one who drank it was Kitahara Sota.
His perception was already absurd. Enhanced further, the gain wasn't huge relative to his baseline, but still—it stacked absurdity atop absurdity.
And the worst part wasn't perception. It was the side-effect.
Compulsion.
To be honest, Kitahara had always had a bad habit. Like when he found a crooked leg, he couldn't resist pressing it.
But that was like popping a zit. Just human impulse, not compulsion.
Once the drug kicked in, though—the story changed.
His mind was clear. Calm. His body felt fine, even sharper than usual.
But that clarity made it worse. His gaze landed on Tachyon, and he saw her problems instantly, more deeply than ever before.
And then—the surge of misalignment, magnified beyond bearing by the drug's compulsion. Under her puzzled stare, he pressed her down into a chair.
At first, Tachyon didn't realize the seriousness. Pinned in place, she still smiled up at him, even tried to tease.
"Ah, guinea pig-kun, don't tell me you're—"
But before the words finished, the electric sensation jolting through her legs froze her expression.
And then...
"Guinea pig-kun, stop..."
"I was wrong, guinea pig-kun, please—let me go..."
"Guinea pig-kun, I'm begging you, I really can't take any more..."
Three minutes later, with a soft, helpless gasp, Tachyon collapsed unconscious in the chair.
And because the trial had been in his dorm, of course the others noticed. One after another, they came to check.
Then came catastrophe.
At first, those who peeked in thought nothing of it—just ordinary "care," and they only came to watch.
But when Kitahara lifted his head, eyes calm, serious, after finishing Tachyon's treatment—their hearts all skipped.
And then—they too fell under his hands.
Chairs. Sofas. Even the big bed...
One after another, Uma Musume lay unconscious.
Those still standing realized something was wrong. They tried to restrain him. Wait for Tachyon to wake, then sort it out.
They thought, as Uma Musume, as racehorses, and with numbers, they could easily overpower him.
But reality was otherwise.
True, when he had fought that Black Forest Uma, he'd lost an arm to bring her down.
But she had trained in martial arts, was elite even by Tracen standards, and fought him seriously, peer-to-peer.
His dorm girls were different. Plenty of numbers, many skills—but hardly any real combat experience.
And trying not to hurt him, they held back, movements clumsy, coordination poor.
So, with little effort, Kitahara subdued them, one by one.
At last, only Tamamo Cross remained, trembling in a corner, eyes wide.
He sighed, softened his tone.
"Don't be afraid, Tamamo. I only want to help with your care."
But that explanation only made her shake harder.
On the second day of camp, she had seen with her own eyes his treatment of Nice Nature.
And unlike others, she had resisted curiosity. Though her teammates hinted, urged, she refused.
But Super Creek hadn't.
Her obsession with care drove her straight to the bed.
And after—well, there was no after.
Watching Creek's dazed, scattered state, Tamamo's scalp tingled, dread filling her chest.
Because she knew Super Creek's will.
Gentle on the surface, but beneath—an iron will forged by her need to care for others. Even in the worst situation, she could still smile.
Yet even Creek had collapsed under Kitahara's hands. So if she tried...
Tamamo refused every offer after that. Not even Digital's coaxing could sway her.
But today, faced with drugged Kitahara—even she could not escape.
Still, unlike Tachyon, the others didn't truly resist.
Because though compelled, Kitahara's mind was lucid.
He explained his state, his pain, asked for their consent before touching.
They feared, yes. But seeing his eyes, pained, desperate, even ready to harm himself to resist...
In the end, one after another, they agreed. Even Tamamo.
Otherwise, Kitahara would never have forced them.
Tachyon, though? She was the exception.
She was the cause. He had no burden in pressing her.
And afterward... there was no afterward.
When the drug wore off, only three still had their wits: himself, Eclipse, and Komata Hajime—huddled in a corner, spared only because she was human.
Oh—and Sunday Silence, spared because she was a ghost. She circled the room, clicking her tongue at the carnage, smacking her lips with regret.
Unlike the others, she wasn't afraid. She longed for it. To feel what it was like, to be pushed to unconsciousness by his care.
But sadly, being incorporeal, the touch barely registered. A pity, in her eyes.
So camp was extended a day, while the others recovered.
And since then—things became like this.
Because of the drug, even though he had held back, his grip had still been far stronger than normal.
Even Special Week, who fared best, now twitched at the sight of him. Flinched at his touch.
But his melancholy wasn't really that.
Yes, they kept their distance now. Yes, he felt guilt. Yes, he planned to make amends with gifts.
But really—he was fine with it. He had wanted distance anyway.
No, what weighed on him most—
He glanced to his side.
Eclipse, as ever, was there. Unchanged, expression the same, gaze unreadable.
Kitahara sighed.
"So tell me... what on earth is going through your head...?"