Silence. Norm slowly lifts her gaze towards Masaru. “We had a chat.” She curtly replies, before walking past her and out into the corridor.

  “Norm! Wait!”

  “Sorry, Saru.” She doesn’t look back. “I promised I’d be honest. There’s nothing you can do to help right now.”

  “Norm…”

  Masaru’s hands ball up into a fist. She wanted to say something. She couldn’t- what was she supposed to say? That it was going to be alright? To focus on the race ahead?

  Forger. Katsura had mentioned the ticket back at the stairwell. There was no doubt she was holding it over Norm’s head now that she had been beaten. Just as she had thought, there was no way she’d let things go that easily. The thought made her head boil with static, half wishing she had thrown a punch back then.

  If only she hadn’t been caught…

  She watches as Norm rounds the stairs with her head hung low. If she couldn’t stop Katsura holding the issue over their heads, she’d have to pull the weeds out by the root.

  If Norm kept her mind on the ticket, she wouldn’t be able to focus on the Stakes. There was no point waiting now- she had to bust Kentaro’s ass and get his license revoked as soon as she could. With a newfound determination, she stomps down the stairs and through the Administration wing where the trainers’ offices were.

  It was around seven in the evening. She presses herself against the door, her heart thumping wildly against her ribcage. She could hear Kentaro screeching through the walls and practically saw the spit flying off his beet-red face with his arms flailing wildly.

  She knew his schedule well. The second the clock struck eight, an alarm would go off on his phone, reminding him that his favorite pub down the street would be clearing out its dinner rush. He would then saunter out with either winnings from earlier in the day and boast to his friends, or in this case, a grumpy look plastered all over his face and proceed to order the cheapest drink on the menu.

  Masaru scurries back down to the ground floor. All she had to do now was wait for his lumbering figure to rumble down the stairway and waddle past the fields, and the office would be hers to search through until curfew. She had until ten thirty to get back to the dorms- two hours and a half was plenty.

  The laughter of other Umamusume drifts through the window alongside hazy rays of the setting sun. She feels her heart sink and twist as she slides down against a classroom door- would Norm have been one of them if things hadn’t turned out the way they did?

  Deep down, some part of her wishes Norm hadn’t gotten herself into trouble at all. That way, neither of them would be dealing with this. The sane part of her pushed the thought down almost immediately, pointing fingers wouldn’t solve the situation.

  Her eyes are fixated upon her phone, mindlessly scrolling through post after post. She doesn’t take in any of them. Her mind had long since departed the room and into the office, wondering what she could possibly get her hands on to have Kentaro gone. The tablet? No, he’d bring that with him. Bank statements? That was ridiculous, he wouldn’t have that information lying around. She couldn’t get into his computer or email because she didn’t know the password. The harder she thought about it, the more hopeless she felt.

  She had to try regardless.

  Ba-dump. Ba-dump. Her heart beats violently against her chest, her mind wandering into dangerous territory. What if she got caught again?

  Her finger slowly stops, trembling as her knuckles turn white upon her case.

  She could only imagine the disappointed looks on her parent’s face, knowing that she had gotten kicked out of the academy they had worked so hard to send her to. Why was she doing this? Why was she going so far even for someone she was close to?

  Was Norm’s peace of mind really worth risking her future?

  Were Norm’s dreams worth more than the dream her parents had for her?

  The questions felt like a trap. This wasn't a choice between Norm and her parents. No one was forcing her hand; this was her choice.

  So what does she want, then?

  Her gaze slowly settles on the dimly lit screen of her smartphone, her mind desperately searching for an answer. To see her friend happy? To be left alone? To finally find safety amidst a sea of chaos and mistrust?

  No. That wasn’t quite it.

  A slow, soft caw echoes overhead as two pigeons soar past the sunset and perch atop the roof. A small, dim ping goes off in her head as she wistfully gazes upon their figure.

  She wanted freedom.

  Not just freedom from the weight of others upon her back, but the freedom to choose her own path as well. The freedom to be unsure, to search for her purpose. The freedom to look back upon her life without regrets.

  She had been powerless for far, far too long. She felt like a bystander, a backup singer to the song of her own life. She wanted desperately to change, to break free and be herself, yet she didn’t even know if that was possible.

  Normcore’s dream was the very embodiment of that freedom. It was the absolute, irrefutable proof to her hypothesis that one could forge a path in the brambles of hardship through sheer determination and will. That one could carve through the unknown and find a path that was theirs alone.

  To let that light die would be to deny herself hope. To let Norm fail would be to admit that such a thing was impossible. She was fighting for her friend’s dream just as much as she was fighting for her own.

  It did not matter whether she succeeded or failed. To know that she tried to make her dreams come true would be enough. Even if she had to take the full brunt of Kentaro’s wrath… The cost is but a penny compared to the worth of her dreams.

  Thump, thump, thump, a set of heavy footsteps come thundering down the stairway. Her eyes dart to her phone screen, the clock showing it was now five past eight. She lifts her head up and peeks out the window, watching Kentaro make his way across and down the lush green hills.

  She silently creeps up the stairs, peeking her head through the hallway and making sure everyone was gone. Then she approaches the door and retrieves two paperclips from her pocket. After her fiasco that was the forgery attempt, she had promised herself to learn how to pick locks.

  Masaru unwinds the first into a hook, pushing it into the keyhole. She twists the second back into itself, inserting it beneath the first like a handle.

  Her heart hammers wildly in her chest, her ears swivelling on a pivot as they listen for footsteps. Travelling along the inside of the mechanism, she pushes each pin upwards until they become properly aligned.

  Every second she expected someone to walk in and catch her red-handed in the act, part of her wishing she had tried the window once more. Except… no one does. By some miracle from the three goddesses, she remains in solitude.

  The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

  Click. The final pin clicks into the place and she frantically jiggles the doorknob. The door swings open with a creak, leaving her standing dumbfounded in shock for a moment- she hadn’t expected it to be this easy.

  Masaru wasn’t quite sure how long that had taken- three minutes? Five minutes? It felt an agonizing eternity waiting for each pin to click into place. Regardless, she hurries inside and clicks the door shut with a loud, trembling sigh, exhaling all the tension that had painstakingly built up in her chest at once.

  It’s another moment before she catches her breath. The hairpins are bent back into place before she places them on her head, and then she heads for the computer.

  Just as she thought, it was protected by a password and the hint doesn’t help in the slightest. She moves onto the papers on the desk, carefully rifling through them for any incriminating evidence, making sure to leave everything exactly the same way.

  She can’t find any.

  Was it the way she was searching? She didn’t fancy trying again. It takes another ten minutes for her to search through the three piles of paperwork on the table, none of which helped her in her cause. Stumped, she turns to the recycling bin stacked to the brim with paper, operating on hope and prayers to the divine.

  A resignated sigh leaves her as she begins tossing crumpled paper out by the stacks, scanning through each and every single sheet with the fervor of a scavenger looking for gold. The room begins to look as if a hurricane had swept through it, Masaru aggressively tossing paper over her head like an uma-powered excavator.

  She finds and sets aside several betting ticket stubs, ripped up beyond recognition. Her heart was sinking by the second. Those probably wouldn’t be too bad for him to deny… And then she sees it. A letterhead with Tracen’s stamp on it.

  She practically rips the paper out of the pile, uncrumpling it as she begins to read.

  “To Mr. Kentaro Takahashi… Tracen Academy acknowledges the submission of the competitive record portfolio for the umamusume, Normcore, under your tutelage. This document constitutes a formal attestation, signed under your authority as a licensed trainer, that the provided information is a complete, factual, and unaltered representation of the subject's competitive history…”

  Her eyes drift down towards the first item of the printed list at the bottom of the letter. Her fingers tremble as her heart skips two steps. She reads the listing twice over in disbelief.

  Dirt?

  She turns the paper around. Blank. The rest of the list had been lost in the pandemonium of the recycling bin. She dives back in and begins to search.

  It’s another ten minutes before she finds the second half. She stares down the list once more, her stomach twisting itself into a knot. Aside from the final race, the Michinoku Kogen, Kentaro had swapped the rest of Norm’s races out with Dirt ones.

  The color drains out of her face. She felt sick.

  It all clicked snugly into place like the final turn on a rubick’s cube. Kentaro was the one who had talked with the Tracen representative. She hadn’t considered the possibility that he would go as low as to sabotage Norm’s own career, and yet, looking back, this should’ve been the inevitable conclusion regardless.

  Tracen didn’t make a mistake, Kentaro had lied. He had lied with the red ink scribbled upon the signature he had signed to guarantee the truth, forging race records the same way Masaru had forged his signature on a speeding ticket.

  Of course he didn’t need to be aggressive or controlling. Of course he’d take a step away and let Norm run herself into the ground. Why would he, when he had everything already in control? The man considered himself beneath fighting battles he had already won.

  The paper threatens to rip beneath her fingertips as her knuckles strain with rage. She hurriedly packs up the rest of the documents back into the recycling bin, collecting the letter in its entirety. Who would she report to? Who would believe her? Not the principal. Regardless, she had to get the word out somehow.

  The door to Kentaro’s office flings open as Masaru scurries out like a rat, the letter firmly tucked against her chest. She darts forward frantically, her head down, heart hammering, pondering the implication of-

  THUMP. She collides full force into a wall of flesh, flying backwards and landing on the ground with a pained yelp. The world spins violently around her, leaving her lying crumpled up in a heap. It takes a second for her head to reboot…

  And then her heart stops dead on the spot.

  “Are you okay?”

  She expected the booming, aggressive voice of Kentaro. She hadn’t expected the soft, firmer voice of a middle-aged man. Her terrified gaze drifts upward, past the polished boots and well-kept suit, dressed by someone who was far too big to be Kentaro, and finally settling on the glasses and beret of Shinji Goutarou.

  His eyes slowly drift from her, to Kentaro’s office door swinging close, and then down to the papers Masaru was clutching in her embrace. She gulps.

  “What are you doing here?”

  Masaru’s head kicks into high gear, stammering to formulate a response that could pass off as reasonable or even just plausible. Her heart thrashes and thumps wildly as it threatens to leave her body entirely, her ears plastered firmly to her head.

  She has nothing.

  Slowly, trembling, she lifts the paper. She doesn’t say anything, only showing Goutarou Tracen’s crest. Slightly confused, he pushes in his glasses and leans forward.

  “Explain,” he said, his voice a low, steady pressure.

  “Normcore’s race records.”

  He retrieves the paper and takes a long look as Masaru gets back onto her feet.

  “What about them?”

  “They’re…” She hesitates. “They’re forged.”

  The setting sunlight catches Goutarou’s glasses, turning them opaque for a split second. His jaw locks up, his shoulder stiffening, his expression becoming unreadable.

  “I see.” He finally says, lowering the paper after a pause that felt like forever. “There are many things I dislike about him, and yet, even I did not imagine that he could possibly be capable of something like this.”

  He lets out a deep sigh as his eyes settle upon the signature. “And where did you find this?”

  “In Trainer’s recycling bin.” Masaru replies.

  “A foolish place to dispose of evidence.” Goutarou’s shoulders drop as he turns back towards the window. Silently, he folds up the report and then holds his hand out. “The other half, please."

  Masaru hesitantly hands over the now twice-crumpled paper. Goutarou tucks them away in the inner pockets of his suit.

  “I’ll see this matter resolved. But know that the only reason you are not currently being expelled is because the crime I am holding far outweighs that of your own.”

  The edge in his tone makes the hair on her stand up, for it was very clear he was willing to turn a blind eye despite his better judgement. Without missing a beat, Goutarou continues walking forward briskly as if nothing had happened.

  “Your initiative is duty noted; your judgement is not. Your actions, should it come to this again, are indefensible. Do not test me a second time. Do not test your luck a second time.”

  Masaru didn’t require a second cue- she practically hightails her way out the building with her tail tucked between her legs. She had gotten off easy.

  Even as she made her way across the green and blended back into the herd of others lazily longing about, she felt a sense of unease bubbling in her chest. She didn’t know whether she could trust him to do the right thing… Then again, she didn’t have much of a choice.

  Masaru makes her way back to the dorm, softly cracking the door open. She had expected Norm to be slumped on the bed, to be absolutely dejectedly staring out the window, or to be gone entirely.

  “Norm?!”

  She did not expect the absolute pandemonium that was twelve different takeout boxes scattered around the floor. She slowly turns, scooping large chunks of chowmein out of a paper container.

  “Mmmrf?” She barely looks up as she devours another chunk.

  “W-What are you-” She stammers, then goes silent. Right… Stress eating.Her mind drifts back to the nights of Norm scarfing down bread. It didn’t come off as a surprise that she would start doing the same, though she was caught off guard by just how much she managed to eat in a single evening.

  “You should probably cut down on that. It’s not good for you.”

  She sighs and starts picking up the boxes. Norm lets out a half grunt before saying something muffled with food in her mouth. It bore the faintest resemblance to “it’ll be fine.”

  “It’s not gonna be fine.” She taps a pair of chopsticks on her head. “You’ve got the Unicorn Stakes coming... How’re you gonna run like this?”

  Norm’s ears droop softly like a puppy that had been caught stealing. Masaru gently and firmly yanks the rest of the box from her, causing her to let out a whine.

  “Anyway… I found out something that's pretty important. You’ll wanna hear this one.”

  Slow Metabolism.