"Just one year left?"
"…Yes. I'm sorry. If things continue on this trajectory…"
The doctor set the CT films on the desk. His expression was unusually careful, as though he was afraid of provoking the patient sitting across from him.
"As for what comes next… we need to sit down and properly confirm a treatment plan with you."
"…If I cooperate with treatment, what are the odds I recover?"
"Twenty percent… no—thirty! If you work with us and follow the regimen, the chances of a cure are still quite good!"
"Thirty percent, huh?"
The man stared at the black-and-white CT on the table. Beside where his heart should've been nothing but darkness, there was an extra patch of stark white—an abrupt blot like something demonic—pulling him into silence.
After a brief exchange about his condition, he packed his things and left the hospital.
Standing at the hospital entrance, the clouds that had looked like plump cotton tufts when he arrived now appeared, to his eyes, as if they'd been brushed with a pale, silvery ash—like a lid clamped over his heart, pressing so hard he could barely breathe.
A black-haired man with the classic look of an East Asian adult stood there like a reef, unmoving for a long time. People flowed in and out of the hospital like tides around him, making him seem strangely out of place.
He—Fujimura Hikaru—had only one year left to live.
Dragging his exhausted body, Fujimura Hikaru pushed open the door to the dorm he was staying in and let out a long sigh.
The room wasn't big, but it had everything—kitchenette, bathroom, the basics—more than enough for a single man to live normally. It was staff housing provided by Central Tracen Academy for trainers. It wasn't luxurious, but it was comfortable enough.
Yes. Fujimura Hikaru was still a trainer—someone who specialized in training horse girls so they could post excellent results in the Twinkle Series.
He hadn't been a trainer for long—only three years—but he'd already developed some notably talented horse girls. His reputation at Central Tracen was, by trainer standards, fairly strong. If you insisted on ranking trainers into tiers, Fujimura Hikaru would probably be considered one of the "top students."
And now, that "top student" lay flat on his bed, staring blankly at a stain on the ceiling with his distinctive wine-red eyes.
"Only a thirty percent chance of recovery… I always knew this day would come eventually. I just didn't think it'd come this soon."
He wasn't surprised by the fact he was sick. There had been "precedent."
Something in the Fujimura bloodline was off. It wasn't a clear hereditary disease, but their odds of developing a terminal illness were higher than average. As a result, the Fujimura family tended to die young. Fujimura Hikaru's father had come down with an incurable illness and passed away when Hikaru was eighteen. His mother, devastated by the loss, had followed not long after.
And it wasn't just his father. In Hikaru's memory, there were hardly any ancestors who'd lived past fifty. The Fujimuras were, in every sense, a short-lived family.
He'd expected he might be struck by something eventually. What he hadn't expected was for it to hit this early.
"Did I push myself too hard these past years as a trainer…?"
He murmured under his breath. If he had to pinpoint a reason, it was probably the way he'd worked himself raw over the last three years—grinding himself down until the damage finally showed.
Becoming one of those so-called "excellent student" trainers was never easy. Fujimura Hikaru wasn't a genius. On the path of a trainer, the only thing he could rely on was effort.
Preparing materials more diligently than anyone else. Staying up late analyzing opponent data for upcoming races. Compiling and breaking down training numbers day after day. Adjusting training plans again and again to find the optimal approach for each horse girl under his care…
For three straight years, he had used himself like a beast of burden. The achievements were real—and so was the damage left behind.
"What do I do…? I've only got one year…"
Fujimura Hikaru felt lost.
Anyone suddenly told they had just one year left would be lost. He was no exception.
But more than confusion, what he felt was worry.
"Damn it… if I'm gone, what happens to that kid…?"
By "that kid," he meant Xingmu—the horse girl currently under his charge.
According to Hikaru's plan, Xingmu was supposed to debut in the second half of this year and begin her campaign in the Twinkle Series in earnest.
And that was exactly the problem.
Unless Hikaru's condition improved dramatically, there was a very high chance he wouldn't be able to stay by Xingmu's side through her Classic Year.
A trainer's death would, without question, deal an enormous blow to the horse girl they were responsible for.
"…If this keeps up, it'll stain her career."
Xingmu was undeniably a genius—one of the best talents even in a place like Central Tracen, where prodigies were everywhere.
A jewel-bright talent like that being marked by an unnecessary blemish because of him…
Fujimura Hikaru would never allow it.
"So… what am I supposed to do…?"
Ping.
As he lay there thinking through how to arrange things for his horse girl, a crisp notification chime came from his phone.
He pulled it out of his pocket, woke the screen with his thumb—and saw a familiar name.
"Go out for a drink…? This guy really has nothing better to do."
Hikaru's lips twisted faintly as he read. He typed out a refusal and was about to hit send when his finger stopped in midair.
…Maybe asking this guy to look after Xingmu wouldn't be a bad option.
With that thought, Hikaru deleted every word he'd typed, sent back an acceptance instead, shut off the screen, and forced himself up from his soft bed. He desperately wanted to collapse right back onto it and sleep, but clearly, that wasn't an option.
"Time to go."
Ding-ling.
The bell above the tavern door chimed as it swung open. Along with a server's soft, polite welcome, Fujimura Hikaru stepped inside.
The gentle, unhurried music and the warm-toned lighting made the place feel comfortable the moment you entered.
A small tavern like this usually lived on regulars, so the crowd was rarely large. The space itself wasn't big, but with so few customers, it felt oddly open.
Hikaru swept his gaze around and soon spotted the man who'd invited him—sitting at the bar.
"Oh! Fujimura, you're here! Come on, sit—sit!"
The scruffy-looking man with a lollipop in his mouth and a flush of drunken red on his face was Hikaru's coworker and close friend: Chongye.
"You know I don't drink."
Hikaru took the empty seat beside him and spoke with open irritation.
"Heh-heh." Chongye just grinned and took another swig, not bothered by Hikaru's tone in the slightest.
"What happened to your hand?" Hikaru's brow lifted. He saw the bandages wrapped around Chongye's left hand and couldn't help his mouth twitching. "Don't tell me it's what I think it is."
His friend had a problem: whenever he saw a horse girl he liked, he couldn't resist reaching out to touch her thigh to "confirm her talent." Sure, you could judge a lot from muscle development—but the behavior was, to put it mildly, excessive.
Checking thighs (x)
Pervert behavior (✓)
"Ah, I just got kicked once. It's fine. No big deal!" Chongye said with a shameless grin, as if he saw nothing wrong with any of this.
"Serves you right," Hikaru snapped, annoyed. "Can't you find some other way to 'confirm' things?"
"Hey, you only really know when you feel it with your own hands!"
"At this rate you'll lose the other hand too."
"Relax, relax. It'll be better in a few days."
"That is absolutely not the kind of injury that heals in a few days—"
Hikaru, stuck as the designated straight man, rubbed between his brows as if he had a headache and asked, "So why'd you suddenly want to drag me out drinking?"
"Because, brother, something good happened!"
The moment he said it, Chongye's face lit up—eyebrows dancing.
"Good news?"
"I found my trainee horse girl!"
"You actually found one?" Hikaru offered sincere congratulations. Chongye wasn't like him—he'd been stuck without a suitable trainee for ages. If he'd finally found the right candidate, then yes, it deserved a toast. "Congrats."
"Now I've got a horse girl too. I can finally go head-to-head with your 'Overlord,' heh-heh-heh."
"Hah." Hikaru didn't say much. He asked the bartender for a cup of sake, lowered his head, and drank in silence.
The bitter liquid slid down his throat and sank into his body, a scorching sensation carving through his chest like a blade.
Chongye had a new horse girl to train now. That meant Hikaru couldn't ask him to take care of Xingmu after all.
"Wow, this is rare," Chongye said, eyes wide with curiosity. "You're actually drinking."
In his memory, Fujimura Hikaru basically never drank—more like someone who didn't touch alcohol at all.
It really was unusual.
"What, I'm not allowed to drink?" Hikaru shot back.
"No, no. I'm just moved. The kid finally grew up and can drink with the adults now~"
"…You're one year older than me. Don't start acting like some elder," Hikaru said flatly.
"Hahaha."
In the warm little tavern, the two of them drank—cup after cup—while chatting about all kinds of nonsense, their conversation wandering everywhere.
Chongye vaguely felt something was off. His friend didn't usually talk this much, did he…?
But under the wash of alcohol, that thought was quickly pushed aside.
"Who cares! Drink!"
Thud!
Soon, the sound of Fujimura Hikaru's forehead hitting the bar echoed through the tavern.
"Heh. That's your tolerance? And you tried to drink me under the table?" Chongye said with smug, tipsy satisfaction.
"Boss, bill!"
"Sure thing. Here you go."
"Let me see…"
Chongye took the receipt—and his expression froze solid.
Wait… the stuff we drank was this expensive?!
And Fujimura's passed out… I can't even split it with him anymore!
"Will you be paying cash or credit card?" the bartender asked, wearing a harmless, customer-service smile.
Staring at that smile, Chongye said stiffly, "C-Credit card…"
Beep.
The cold electronic sound rang out, and Chongye's wallet somehow felt even thinner.
With a trembling hand, he pulled a lollipop from his chest pocket and shoved it into his mouth. Full of resentment, he hoisted Fujimura Hikaru—who was dead unconscious on the stool—up onto his back.
"You little punk," Chongye muttered. "Next time, you're buying the drinks."
Whether Hikaru heard him or not, Chongye kept grumbling as he staggered toward the staff dorms, carrying his buddy on his shoulder.
Fujimura Hikaru felt like he'd had a long, exhausting dream.
First, the hospital—being told he had only one year left. Then stumbling back to the dorm in a daze. Before he'd even warmed the bed, his buddy dragged him out for drinks. Then he drank himself senseless with his coworker-friend, who carried him back while cursing the whole way.
And finally, when he'd dragged his battered body back into the dorm…
He discovered he'd turned into a horse girl—
"—!!"
Hikaru's eyes flew open. He wiped his forehead hard. At some point, his head was already slick with sweat.
"Hah…"
He let out a long breath, and his emotions tangled into something difficult to name.
"What kind of chaotic, nonsensical dream was that?"
He slowly stood up, rubbing his foggy, hungover brain, and hauled his weary body into the bathroom.
No one took things that happened in a dream seriously.
Unless they actually happened.
Morning sunlight pierced the bathroom window. Hikaru wiped the fog from the mirror, and his reflection came into view.
"…Huh?"
The sound that slipped from his mouth was no longer a mature man's distinct raspy voice—
it was a girl's, clear and delicate, like a wind chime trembling into a soft whimper.
Long black hair, dark as ink, spilled loosely over his shoulders. His wine-red eyes gleamed like transparent rubies. His features were so pretty they looked like the centerpiece doll in a display case. And the strange sensation from the ears on his head and the tail behind him was so vivid it almost made him want to reach up and touch them.
"…What the hell."
Today, Fujimura Hikaru had changed classes.
He was a horse girl now.
-------
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