I Just Wanted a Quiet Life... So Why Am I an Uma Musume Trainer?!

Training done, Hachiman checked Hiratsuka-sensei's email and waited by Trecen Academy's gate, feeling like a sore thumb in his rare formal suit. No usual slouchy threads—this was his "important occasion" getup. Sensei's message promised a ride, but as students trickled past, their stares pricked like needles. Hurry up already, he thought, shifting uncomfortably.

A sleek black car rolled up, gleaming with understated wealth. An Uma Musume driver stepped out, opening the rear door with a bow. "Apologies for the wait, Hikitani Hachiman-sama. Please, step inside."

"Thanks," Hachiman muttered, sliding in. The students' gazes burned hotter, but he shrugged them off. Let them talk. Trecen thrived on rumors—soon they'd spin tales of him being some secret tycoon. Whatever. The real question was: Why this fancy pickup, Sensei? And we're not hitting some local joint, are we?

The restaurant was a vision of excess—a three-star haven of elegance. Hachiman's stomach knotted. "Knew it," he mumbled. "You went all out."

Another car purred up behind his, identical in its polished sheen. The driver opened the door, and Hiratsuka-sensei emerged, radiant in a flowing dress.

"Hachiman, kept you waiting?" she asked, her voice warm.

"Just got here," he said. "But seriously, Sensei, a place like this? Isn't it overkill?"

"Money's meant to be spent," she said, waving a hand. "No harm splurging for my disciple's big win."

"You already sent those earrings," Hachiman pointed out. "And that necklace."

"Those were for the Hanshin Juvenile Fillies," she said, a touch sheepish. "Slipped my mind to celebrate properly then. Sorry. But you're wearing the earrings—nice touch."

"Your gifts," Hachiman said, touching his ear. "Couldn't not wear them."

"You know how to make your sensei happy," she said, grinning. "Enough standing around. Let's go in."

The restaurant's interior was a paradox—lavish yet serene, chandeliers casting a soft glow over polished tables. Way out of my league, Hachiman thought, trailing Hiratsuka-sensei. A place for elites, not a guy like him.

"You picked a hell of a spot," he said, settling into his seat. "Three stars, and you snagged a reservation?"

"Booked it the night you won the Ouka Sho," she said. "Early bird gets the table."

"Still, this is a bit much for a disciple's celebration," Hachiman said. "I know you're loaded, but…"

"Would you prefer cash?" she teased, eyes glinting.

"Nah, that'd be too weird," he said, grimacing.

"Thought so," she said, smirking. "This suits you better."

She gets me, Hachiman thought. Cash would've felt dirty—he'd have refused it. This? Extravagant, but sincere.

The waiter arrived, setting down appetizers. Hachiman's plate was modest; Sensei's was piled high, as expected for an Uma Musume's appetite. How'd she manage back in her racing days?

"Let's eat and talk," she said, lifting a fork. "But no chatting with your mouth full. Not here."

"No way I'd do that," Hachiman said. "I'd get kicked out."

They dug into the lavish meal, conversation flowing amid the clink of cutlery. Hachiman's nerves didn't quite settle, but he managed.

"By the way," he said, "you still talk to the Professor?"

"Now and then," Hiratsuka-sensei said. "Have to, or she gets noisy. Always asking about you—chatty for someone so intense."

Hachiman chuckled. "Yeah, sounds like her."

"She cares about you," Sensei said. "Maybe reach out sometime?"

"I'd be down," Hachiman said, "but not here. Her voice would echo through this place."

"True," she laughed. "Let's save it for after the Oaks."

The Professor wasn't a literal academic—just a nickname for the woman who'd mentored Hachiman alongside Hiratsuka-sensei during her brief stint in Japan. She'd insisted on the title, and it stuck.

"That just means more work for me," Hachiman grumbled.

"A master's job is to dump problems on their disciple," she said, grinning.

"That's 'trouble,' not 'problems,'" he shot back. "But fine. It's been, what, three years since I heard her voice? I'm curious."

"She said the same," Sensei said. "The Oaks is your stage. I'm leaving it to you."

"Got it," Hachiman said.

"I can see it now," she said, eyes gleaming. "She'll hear you and start yelling, all excited."

"She asked about me that much?" Hachiman said, raising an eyebrow.

"Hundreds of times," Sensei said. "Even talked about coming back to Japan, ditching her work abroad. I chewed her out for it. 'He's my disciple too!' she snapped back. 'Of course I'm worried!'"

Hachiman's chest warmed. "…That's something."

"Happy?" she asked, her tone soft.

"Yeah," he admitted. "It's… nice to hear."

"Good," she said, her smile warm. "I feel the same. Call me anytime, even for nothing. I'm your sensei—I'll listen to your gripes."

"Thanks," Hachiman said, his voice quiet. Too good for a guy like me.

Hiratsuka-sensei, an Uma Musume who'd gone all out for him, and the Professor, probably as lively as ever. Hope she's doing alright.