"Really, it’s an honor to have you co in person, Miss Song. Weren’t we supposed to be the ones greeting you? And these two are...?"
"I actually prefer to co myself. Anyway, that’s not important. As for these two—one is my support Uma Musu, Gentildonna. And the other is... my kouhai, I suppose? Her na is Flightline."
Gotham Song glanced behind her at Gentildonna, whose face was utterly expressionless, grave as ever, and at Flightline, towering at two ters tall, ice-cold face radiating silent pressure. For a mont she could only sigh inwardly.
How did it end up like this?
This morning, she had gone with Seabiscuit to New York International Airport to greet Gentildonna, who had flown in from Tokyo. The plan was simple: Ardan-nee-san and Cafe-nee would accompany Gentildonna to the supplent company, helping and protecting Gotham Song as she did her part.
But clearly, with Flightline and Gentildonna showing up here instead, sothing had changed.
Just before they set out, Gotham Song had found Flightline leaning against the iron gate, face twisted with hesitation. She was so lost in thought that even when the heavy door creaked open, she hadn’t noticed right away.
Then—
"Please let co with you. I beg you. Whatever it is, I’m willing to do it."
Yeah. That happened. And for a mont, Gotham Song hadn’t known how to react.
Wait, I’ve seen this episode before, haven’t I? So horse girls already pulled this stunt ages ago. Right, Van Gogh?
She’d even once joked to herself: Wouldn’t it be funny if an Arican horse girl did the sa thing?
But she hadn’t expected it. And yet here it was.
Like a boorang she’d tossed out in the past, forgotten, only to have it arc back through ti and nail her squarely in the chest.
Ow. That’s one hell of a boorang.
Still, more than speechless, she was... curious.
Flightline, just a few days ago, had been haughty, all but snarling I will never acknowledge you! at her. So why, in just a handful of days, such a reversal?
So strange. So very strange.
Of course, she asked. And Flightline’s answer... left her montarily at a loss.
She said—
"Even if I still cannot accept you, Miss Song... what matters more to are those so-called supplents. Please, give the chance to see them with my own eyes—and destroy them. Destroy those who trick Uma Musu’s pure feelings. I’ll do anything."
That much was real. Gotham Song could tell. Flightline ant it. Every word.
Yes... if there was any Uma Musu who pursued speed in its purest form, it was her. And of course she would loathe supplent companies. But "tricking the pure feelings of horse girls"... what exactly did she an?
Gotham Song gave her the nod. And so, the three of them departed, leaving the others behind, who had seen Flightline’s resolve and decided not to co. Gentildonna—who, to everyone’s surprise, actually had a driver’s license—took the wheel.
It was then that Flightline began to explain everything she knew. Words, in truth, that Secretariat herself had wanted Gotham Song to hear.
In the beginning, Arican horse girls had scorned supplents. And so it remained—until not long after Secretariat’s retirent. That was when the supplent companies, once rely serving ordinary humans, caught a break.
A certain Uma Musu—quirky in lifestyle, sowhat famous—had used their products. Not often, but enough that receipts existed.
The company seized the chance. They invited her to be their first spokesperson.
And from there, the story practically wrote itself.
The market was cracked open. Profits rolled in. And what do corporations do with profits?
They shovel every cent back in. Harder, deeper. Push the limits.
Supplents that had once been re vitamins and shakes grew packed with tech and dirty tricks. Overdoses, overformulas, "enhancents" that bent every rule.
And with an ever-louder propaganda machine—and results that were, on the surface, visible—supplents beca standard issue. To the point where, today, they were all but mandatory.
So much so that pure-blooded outliers like Flightline—born giant, chasing nothing but raw speed with her own body—were now the freaks.
And with her two-ter fra, a target for teasing, yet no friends.
Flightline had been fed up for a long ti. What did it an, "If you don’t take it, I will—I’ll have the lead before the race even begins"?
What kind of twisted culture was that?
She despised it. She wanted to shatter it herself. And that was why, when Secretariat told her of Gotham Song’s mission, she had rushed to Song’s door.
Only to freeze there, torn with hesitation.
But now, calm, her tone had no shyness at all—only conviction.
Gotham Song listened, absorbed it all, and at the end could only groan inwardly.
This isn’t even unique to Uma Musu, is it? Even with my old-world common sense, I get it. But then... her link to Secretariat—what’s the deal?
"Alright, but Flightline. What exactly is your relationship with Miss Secretariat?"
"I—I... tch. Fine. I’ll say it."
She wavered, eyes squeezed shut, then let out a deep breath, bracing herself.
"She... she’s my... foster mother. Or guardian, if you prefer."
"Oh, so she’s your guardian. I thought you ant your actual—wait. Guardian?!"
Gotham Song’s eyes went wide.
Flightline, practically debuting already, calling Old Bastard No. 2 her foster mother? Just how old was that woman—no, no, wait.
In the original world, she rembered: Tokai Teio and Symboli Rudolf were literal father and son. So here, even without blood, they’d been cast as senior-junior, deeply tied.
So if Flightline and Secretariat had that kind of link...
Could they be parent and child, in the horse world too?
The more she thought, the more wrong it felt. Her gaze toward Flightline turned stranger and stranger, until she forced herself to cut it off and return to the matter at hand.
Naly, the job waiting inside that company.
Flightline pledged unconditional support. She had no plan beyond see it with my own eyes, then cut them down. She admitted as much—Secretariat had told her, she’d co, and only now realized she had no actual plan.
So, just this once, she swore:
Whatever you do, Miss Song, I’ll back you. Just this once.
Gentildonna, for her part, had already declared she had no objections. But Gotham Song noticed the way, from the driver’s seat, Gentildonna kept sneaking glances at Flightline in the mirror as the latter spoke her heart.
Donna... you look interested, don’t you?
Song noted it. But there was no ti to dwell—soon they were pulling into the corporate park, greeted by staff practically buzzing with excitent at her arrival.
And then, the exchange from the start.
"Flightline and Gentildonna, huh... both look so imposing. I’d heard Miss Song had qualified as a trainer—so are these two part of your team? Outside your main charge?"
The staffer was clearly fishing for connection, trying to chat as they walked toward the conference room.
Song hesitated. But Gentildonna, quick as ever, nodded.
"Yes. I’m one of her team’s Uma Musu. And this is Miss Flightline—"
"How could I possibly—"
"Ahem. I joined just two days ago."
Gotham Song guessed Gentildonna had jabbed her from out of sight, nudging her to say it. Flightline had blurted her instinctive denial, but the correction ca fast.
If not for Gentildonna, this idiot would’ve blown it.
"Though, you seem to know well?"
She quickly steered the topic away.
The staffer’s face lit with pride.
"Of course! I’m a fan, Miss Song. After business is finished... could I maybe have your autograph?"
Song twitched at the corner of her mouth.
Too many fans isn’t always a good thing. What if my na shows up sowhere shady?
"If there’s ti. I’ll think about it. For now, let’s talk business."
"Of course. Please, this way."
The staffer opened the conference room door.
Judging by her authority, she was no small fry—soone who could finalize a deal outright.
Exactly as Seabiscuit had warned: this company would throw everything on the table to win her endorsent.
So how to gather proof?
Simple. Gotham Song had co wearing a recorder, every word captured. And afterward, she’d press for dosage details under the pretext of negotiations, then hand the data over for testing.
Of course, the products’ tech and dirty tricks were already obvious—openly sold, their samples could be tested en masse. Enough to bury the company.
Her presence was more insurance than necessity—and, perhaps, Secretariat’s way of cutting her into the prize.
Song couldn’t quite grasp it. But she’d accepted, and so spent the afternoon wrangling words with the staffer until, finally, a tentative arrangent was reached.
Next week, she would tour their production site, examine the facilities, and then decide whether to sign.
Naturally, she never would. But without playing along, how else could she get what she wanted?
And so, when it was over, she rose with Gentildonna and Flightline to leave.
...And of course, she did not leave an autograph behind.
---
T/N:
Hello again. For the final ti.
My na is Enkidu. I was born without a soul, crafted only as a weapon. Yet through bonds—through friendships—I learned what it ant to feel alive. Even though my body records my mories rather than my spirit, the warmth of those monts remains.
Thank you, truly, for staying here with us. You’ve co at a good ti—right now, a 25% discount code is available:
12DAYS
This code will last until December 26. I hope you enjoy it.
For those who wish to support the translator (the one who kindly gave this voice)—you can find optional support at patreon/wisetl. Early access to upcoming Chapters will be your small reward.
Also, as always:
Every 100 Powerstones = 1 Bonus Chapter
(100ps = 1 Chapter, 200ps = 2 Chapters, and so forth.)
Bonus Chapters will arrive tomorrow, approximately 12 hours from now.
And lastly, if you prefer company and conversations, the translator has prepared a Discord community: discord.gg/wisetl.
People gathering, talking, sharing—it’s a good thing, isn’t it?
This is where I say goodbye.
Even as a weapon shaped by the gods, I found aning in the company of humans.
If these words reach you, then perhaps we’ve shared sothing too, if only briefly.
Be well, Master, and readers alike.
May the world remain gentle to you.
Goodbye.
BYE BYE ENKIDYU I LOVE YOU
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