Darya Dmitrieva
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Uma Musume: It All Started When I Got Sent Flying Ten Meters
🕑 Added 2025-10-12 18:00:07 +0000 UTCChapter 126: Don’t Get a Late Start
When it comes to training and guidance, leading by example is often far more effective than mere words.
Many experienced trainers tend to invite the Umamusume they’ve coached before to join current ones in practice runs and mock races, helping the new generation improve.
Outside of official training, there are also plenty of get-togethers—all designed to let seniors pass on their experience to juniors.
Compared to the more structured and serious atmosphere of theoretical lessons or hands-on coaching, these exchanges are usually casual and relaxed.
In that kind of setting, the Umamusume can more easily absorb useful experience—especially the subtle details that even their trainers might overlook.
For example, what Vodka had just mentioned—it’s something that Makoto hadn’t paid much attention to before.
Thinking about it carefully, he had to agree. Even though Almond Eye was a bit younger, her sharpness and drive during races were actually stronger than Kitasan Black’s. It just wasn’t something you’d easily notice unless you were really looking for it.
Noticing that point, Makoto wanted to take advantage of the moment and say something to Kitasan Black—but suddenly, an uproar spread through the stands.
Even the announcer’s voice sounded surprised.
“It’s… Gold Ship.”
“Hmm… It seems Gold Ship is refusing to enter the gate. She looks very agitated, and the staff are trying to calm her down—Ah!”
“There must be some kind of misunderstanding—Gold Ship has pushed the staff aside. Is she going to enter on her own?”
“No, wait, she’s running toward the rail—what’s she— She just kicked the fence?! This—this is—”
“…Should we say it’s just so Gold Ship?”
By the end, both the commentator and the analyst were clearly torn between tension and laughter.
The audience’s gasps gradually turned into laughter, and before long, a wave of cheers and chants of “Gold Ship!” and “Gold Ship-sama!” rolled through the Kyoto Racecourse. The air was full of lively, joyous noise.
Amid the laughter, a low growl sounded from beside Makoto and the others.
“What the hell is she doing?! Does she even realize this is a race?”
Clutching the railing tightly, her golden ears pressed back flat, Orfevre narrowed her eyes, glaring toward the starting gates.
Nakayama Festa still had a lollipop in her mouth, looking nonchalant—though the twitching of her ears and tail betrayed the agitation bubbling inside.
Dream Journey was far calmer than her two younger sisters.
The glasses-wearing Umamusume have her arms crossed, one hand adjusting the chain on the bridge of her glasses.
“Don’t be hasty, Orf.”
“Gold Ship’s never been great with gate starts—you know that better than anyone.”
“And besides, the staff— Oh, even the old man’s gone over, hasn’t he?”
Just as Dream Journey said, after Gold Ship’s outburst near the gate, the staff who had been pushed away cautiously approached again—this time joined by an elderly man standing on the outer side of the rail.
The old man wore a tan vest over a Tracen Academy trainer’s uniform.
Though his short hair was silver-white, his posture was perfectly straight, and his steps looked more brisk and steady than those of the younger staff around him.
Before he even reached Gold Ship, he raised a hand high—waving what looked like a headpiece—and called out something loudly.
On the giant screen facing the stands, his wrinkled but energetic face showed a clear, gentle smile.
Then, as if by magic, the silver-haired girl who’d been kicking at the fence just minutes ago suddenly calmed down.
She obediently walked over to the old man, let him pat her cheek with a grin, and allowed him to place the headpiece on her. After patting her own chest firmly, she took a deep breath, waved to the old man, then swung her fists playfully at the nearby staff before striding alone toward the starting gate.
The Spring Tenno Sho starting line was directly across from the grandstands. Watching the scene unfold on the screen, Orfevre let out a silent sigh of relief.
The dents her fingers had pressed into the metal railing slowly eased back, and the tension in her body finally unwound.
Pulling the bare stick of her lollipop from her mouth, Nakayama Festa fished out a new one, peeled off the wrapper, and popped it between her lips with a scoff.
“Wasted one of my lollipops… what a pain.”
Dream Journey glanced sideways at her and shook her head.
“You really ought to cut down on the sweets.”
Then she pushed her glasses up and fixed her gaze on the starting gate, a faint crease forming between her brows.
“Looks like the old man’s words did the trick, but gate No.1, huh…”
“I wonder if all that ridiculous ‘preparation’ Gold Ship did beforehand will actually amount to anything.”
. . .
“Alright, after a bit of drama, Gold Ship has finally entered the gate without issue.”
Seeing that things were back on track, the commentator’s voice sounded noticeably calmer.
“The remaining runners are also entering under the staff’s guidance. The race is about to begin…”
The familiar rhythm of the announcer’s tone reached her ears. Gold Ship’s ears twitched; she reached out and ran her fingers across the cold metal of the gate, then touched the hood covering her head.
She didn’t like this thing. It always felt cheap and itchy, irritating her scalp with a faint sting.
And yet—that discomfort was exactly what helped her shut out the vague, restless tension that always threatened to scatter her focus before a race.
Like now.
Aside from noticing how the inner lane ahead had been torn up by the ten previous races, she could also spot the faint glint leaking through the cracks of the gate—the golden thread on Curren Mirotic’s flashy outfit.
Pretty gaudy, huh. Not really Gold Ship-sama’s style though…
Wait, there I go spacing out again…
Startled by her own wandering thoughts, she shook her head quickly, trying to refocus on the track ahead—when suddenly, she remembered that moment from last year.
Or rather, from the last defeat.
The memory of an elderly figure by her side, the gentle smile as he handed her a sugar cube.
That faint sweetness mixed with bitterness rising on her tongue now—that must be the remnants of that candy…
Wait, spacing out again? Didn’t I just say not to do that?
Ugh, so annoying!
Damn it… why does racing have to be such a pain?!
Can’t we just start already? I still want to go eat chouyaki with everyone after this!
Come to think of it, wasn’t that what Kita-chan brought for lunch earlier? It was pretty good… I’ll have to ask her where she bought it later.
Tch, Dream-neesan’s definitely gonna lecture me about eating too many sweets again…
And that Orf—how dare she talk like that, I’ll have to teach her a lesson sometime…
And Festa didn’t even stick up for me! Honestly! I did practice my “Gold Ship-sama Anti-Gate-Missing Mahjong Special Training” seriously, you know!
Anyway, after this race, I’ll definitely—
Click
Like a reflex honed through countless hours of “blind mahjong reaction training,” the crisp sound of the gate lock snapping open reached her ears, sending a shiver up her spine.
The old man’s warning—“If you slow at the gate start, you’ll come to regret it later on”—tangled in her mind with someone else’s muttered “What kind of nonsense training was that?” into an invisible set of reins.
Without realizing it, her weight shifted forward, her front leg already perfectly aligned.
The rough fabric of the hood brushed against her eyelids, and she blinked once.
The moment her feet struck the torn-up inner track, the expected bad sensation came—but she didn’t frown.
Her throat moved in a small gulp. The memory of that bittersweet sugar and the imagined taste of warm, sweet chouyaki rose together in her mind.
Without thinking, her gaze flicked toward the sixteen runners to her outside—and the roaring stands beyond.
And then, to no one in particular, Gold Ship grinned at the air.
“Here we go, everyone…”
