The bubbling of broth drifted from the red clay pot on the table.
Chiemi and Wu You sat opposite each other—one pretending to scroll on her phone, the other wearing a calm smile as he waited.
Glug-glug-glug…
Chiemi's gaze kept sliding back to the pot.
Glug-glug-glug…
The scent hooked her like a line, and she swallowed.
Glug-glug-glug…
This time it wasn't the broth.
It was someone's stomach.
"…Um… Trainer…" Chiemi finally whispered, the very picture of a girl who had sworn absolute discipline five minutes earlier. "We still can't eat?"
She hadn't properly eaten lunch, and now that intoxicating aroma was wrapping around her senses like a ribbon. There was a particular cruelty to mushroom hotpot: the better it tasted, the more its fragrance seemed to steal your soul before the first bite.
Wu You, utterly unbothered, took out a timer and set it on the table.
"Don't rush, don't rush~ About ten more minutes."
Click.
Chiemi stared at the timer as if she could will time to accelerate with pure resentment.
This was torture.
And as Wu You calmly registered the agitation rolling off her, he quietly affirmed to himself:
Just as planned.
Yes—this was training too.
Chiemi's problem wasn't that she didn't understand her preferred style. She hated "escape" tactics and any attempt to force her into them, but she'd been influenced by other trainers' advice. Every so often, she couldn't suppress a sudden urge to surge—an impulsive "burst" that appeared right when her emotions flared.
At her current stage, she could still rein it in with sheer talent.
But even a hairline crack was a fatal weakness for someone who was meant to stand at the very top.
A simple warning would only work temporarily. To fix it for good, her body had to learn what restraint felt like.
And for anyone—human or Umamusume—nothing engraved "restraint" deeper than hunger, fragrance, and being told to wait.
So the moment Wu You noticed the pattern in her, this plan formed naturally.
…
"Ha… ha… ha…"
Only a few minutes in, Chiemi was already unraveling.
She'd abandoned her phone entirely. Now she sat at the edge of her seat, staring at the pot as if locking eyes with it could make it yield.
Steam rose in soft curtains. Maybe it was the heat, but her eyes had gone hazy. A faint flush spread across her cheeks.
"Not yet, Chiemi," Wu You's voice floated over.
His tone was gentle, warm—like spring water.
But to Chiemi's starving brain, it warped into something else.
It sounded like an elegant, faintly wicked young noble seated on a throne. As though he held a chain in his hand—one that could tighten or loosen with a single finger.
And in that ridiculous, involuntary fantasy, the other end of the chain was looped around her own neck.
…It was difficult not to think the wrong way.
Chiemi bit her lip and forcibly scattered the image.
"…Trainer… how much longer?"
"Two minutes. Wait a little more. Be good."
"…Ugh."
Chiemi squeezed her eyes shut as if cutting off sight would cut off temptation.
But sometimes, closing your eyes made things clearer.
That last line—be good—dragged the half-formed fantasy right back into focus, sharper than before, bordering on real.
Wu You, for his part, wasn't even trying to be mischievous. He was genuinely puzzled.
He'd just encouraged her. Why did she look like she was trying to endure something else entirely?
A chill ran through him.
An instinctive sense of danger rose—like if he didn't correct course immediately, he'd be tackled by an overpowered predator before the timer hit zero.
So he cleared his throat and explained, plainly and carefully:
This waiting was part of her training.
As he spoke, Chiemi's eyes slowly cleared. The flush remained, but the feverish confusion retreated.
On the surface, it sounded unrelated to racing. In reality, it was exactly the point.
Chiemi was highly emotional by nature. Formulaic drills wouldn't stick the way this kind of lived, bodily experience would. He wasn't giving her instructions—he was giving her a memory her muscles could recall later, right at the moment she felt that impulsive surge.
Understanding dawned.
And the way Chiemi looked at him immediately turned into something like a pie chart:
Half admiration, a portion of pride, and the last slice—small but very real—pure grievance.
Admiration, because he'd spotted a tiny weakness almost instantly and found a way to train it inside everyday life, tailored to her temperament.
Pride, because… well. That was her trainer. Naturally he was brilliant.
Grievance, because—
Why did it feel like she was getting handled?
…
With the explanation anchoring her, Chiemi steadied herself and leaned into the sensation, deliberately memorizing that aching, maddening restraint.
Wu You felt the shift and nodded slightly.
The method suited her; but what impressed him even more was how quickly she grasped it and adjusted.
That kind of comprehension was rare.
As expected… my Umamusume.
Beep-beep-beep.
The timer went off.
Earlier, Chiemi would've demanded the lid be opened immediately. Now she didn't move. She held her posture, stubbornly preserving the feeling a moment longer.
Wu You smiled, softly, and unlatched the lock on the pot.
The moment it opened, the mushroom aroma exploded—thick, rich, intoxicating—flooding the room and striking Chiemi's nose like a wave.
"Ah—It's ready?!" Chiemi snapped back to reality in an instant.
Wu You ladled a bowl and set it before her.
"Training's finished. Eat."
The broth shimmered, fragrant and inviting. Chiemi's eyes lit up as she took it, lifted it to her lips, and sipped.
Mushroom hotpot already had an addictive sweetness to its savor. With Wu You's skill layered on top, the "damage" became absurd.
Just one sip, and warmth spread through Chiemi's body as if someone had poured comfort directly into her veins.
Hunger softened. Fatigue loosened. Even her mental exhaustion was soothed.
"Mmm—!" Chiemi's ears flicked rapidly, her tail swishing behind her without restraint. "It's so good!"
She looked almost offended by how delicious it was.
"Waiting was absolute torture, but this makes it worth everything! Trainer, your cooking is insane!"
Compliments like that pleased anyone. Wu You was no exception.
"Thank you," he said, calmly adding mushrooms and meat into her bowl, his voice gentle. "Eat more. You barely had lunch."
"Yes—yes—yes! Thank you, Trainer!"
Chiemi dug in with joyful intensity. Wu You found himself enjoying the rhythm of feeding her—adding, timing, watching her react—only taking an occasional bite himself.
Then, as she chewed a slice of mushroom, she went quiet.
Her gaze drifted from the pot… to Wu You's hands, steadily working, calmly serving, quietly attentive.
In that earlier fantasy, he'd been some elegant, controlling noble.
But right now, he felt like the warmest kind of neighbor—like a patient older brother who simply took care of you without making a show of it.
Could a person really contain that kind of contradiction?
Chiemi's cheeks warmed again.
She couldn't tell if it was the hot broth… or the heat in her chest.
And as her thoughts trailed, one question surfaced, soft and dangerously hopeful:
If this was "training"…
Would there be more sessions like this?
-------
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