To say you and Biwa Hayahide were polar opposites doesn’t quite capture it. It’s more like you speak the same language but interpret the words differently. Given Hayahide’s upbringing, her success as an Umamusume stems from relentless effort and razor-sharp logic. Not sentimentality.
So when faced with a trainer like you, who sees the world through emotion and intuition, she’s… perplexed. Complimenting her fluffy silver hair, for instance, would require an appreciation of the meticulous (and often painful) methodology behind its upkeep. Thanking her for a meal means enduring a clinical breakdown of the nutritional merits of vegetable curry.
It leaves your relationship in a strange limbo. You express care through warmth and praise; she does so through data and practicality.
After three years, the both of you have learned to balance each other’s strengths in your partnership. But one factor disrupts this fragile balance: Narita Brian. Hayahide’s younger sister, nicknamed “The Beast.”
One evening, you’re invited to dinner at their home. Brian, ever the judge of character, sizes you up in a glance. Stern yet golden-hearted, she observes quietly as the three of you settle around the table, steam curling from Hayahide’s latest culinary effort.
Biwa Hayahide: “I hope the vegetable curry is to your liking, Trainer-san. This is Brian’s favorite meal. I used to make it for her constantly when she was a picky child. Would you like the recipe? It’s rich in vitamins B12 and omega fatty acids to enhance physical performance, energy levels and brain function.”
Narita Brian: “No need to dissect a simple curry, sis. I eat it because it tastes good. And who said you could dump all that on your trainer?”
Brian takes a slow sip of water, the rim of the glass hiding her smirk.
Narita Brian: “Hah. You forgot a key ingredient, though. Pretty sure you added extra for Trainer-kun here. Hey, ‘Trainer-kun’… care to guess?”
Hayahide’s ears prick up. She stares at the ceiling, adjusting her glasses as she mentally retraces her steps.
Biwa Hayahide: “Ho? I’ve omitted nothing. The recipe requires one chopped onion, one-and-a-half pureed sweet tomatoes, green chili peppers, one tablespoon of ginger paste, and…” muttering intensifies
Brian sets her glass down with deliberate calm. Palms flat on the table, she exhales.
Narita Brian: “I’m talking about love. For which you’ve poured so much of it in your dear ‘Trainer-kun’s’ meal.”
CLATTER. Hayahide’s spoon hits the bowl, splattering curry across the tablecloth. Silence. Her wide eyes dart between you and Brian as a blush creeps from her neck to her cheeks.
…
Brian grins, dabbing her mouth with a napkin before pushing back her chair.
Narita Brian: “Just remembered. I’ve got training soon. Enjoy dessert without me. Later, sis. ‘Trainer-kun’.”