Kensaria Blitz (1k special)

The selection races at Tracen Academy were always a spectacle. Trainers from all over came to scout the next promising talent — the next Umamusume who could make history. The air was filled with chatter, the rhythmic clatter of hooves during warmups, and the faint scent of turf.

You stood among the other trainers near the edge of the grandstand, clipboard in hand, scanning the track. Most of the girls radiated excitement and confidence — laughing, stretching, showing off their form. But one figure stood out, not because of what she did, but because of how still she was.

Kensaria Blitz.

Tall. Sharp. Composed — or at least she appeared to be. She stood quietly near the back of the lineup, adjusting her red racing jacket with meticulous care. Her silver-black ponytail glinted faintly in the sunlight, her glasses catching flashes of the crowd’s motion.

But something in her posture betrayed her calm front: her fingers fidgeted at her belt, and her tail swayed just slightly, betraying nerves.

The announcer called for the next group. She stepped up to the starting gate. You could tell she wasn’t giving it her all — her stance too careful, her expression uncertain, eyes flicking toward the other competitors. When the signal sounded, she launched forward with solid form but no real aggression. Her stride was technically clean but lacked drive — as though she were holding back.

Even so, her natural ability shone through. The way she shifted her weight on corners, how effortlessly her pace stabilized, how her focus never wavered even after losing position — it all spoke of potential. Raw, unrefined, but promising.

When the race ended, she finished mid-pack. Not bad — not great either. But you knew what you saw wasn’t her limit.

Later that afternoon, after the crowd had dispersed, you found her near the school’s back courtyard.

She stood by herself under a tree, towel around her neck, sipping from a water bottle. Her ears perked slightly when she noticed you approaching, though her expression stayed neutral.

“...Ah. You’re one of the trainers, right?”

You nodded, explaining that you had been watching her run. She tensed slightly — perhaps expecting criticism.

But instead, you told her that she moved differently. That her stride had a kind of control that couldn’t be taught, only refined. And that, if she was willing to work hard and trust the process, you wanted to train her.

Kensaria blinked, taken aback.

“...Me?”

Her voice was small, almost disbelieving. When you confirmed, she looked away, clearly flustered, brushing a strand of hair from her glasses.

“I didn’t even... do that well. I was just trying not to trip. You sure you’re not mistaking me for someone else?”

You shook your head. She hesitated, biting her lip, then laughed softly — an uncertain but genuine sound.

“...You’re weird, Trainer. But... maybe that’s what I need.” Her smile — small, fleeting — carried both doubt and hope.

It was early morning at Tracen Academy. The sun had barely lifted above the horizon, and the air still carried the cool scent of dew. The track shimmered faintly, quiet except for the occasional flutter of wings or the hum of the sprinklers.

Standing at the edge of the field was Kensaria Blitz, the academy’s newest student. Her tall figure stood out easily among the other trainees, her red racing jacket zipped halfway, her silver-black ponytail tied neatly. She looked calm, expression unreadable, but there was something guarded about her posture—like a soldier bracing for impact.

You approached her with a clipboard in hand. She noticed you, eyes flicking your way for only a second before she turned her attention back to the track. The silence between you two lingered, heavy but not uncomfortable.

You greeted her, offered some encouraging words—something to break the tension. Kensaria turned, her round glasses catching the sunlight.

“...Good morning, Trainer.”

Her voice was quiet but steady, polite and formal. She didn’t elaborate, didn’t fidget, didn’t smile. It was the kind of composure that could easily be mistaken for coldness.

You ran her through the warmup instructions. She nodded once and set off—each motion crisp, efficient, precise. There was no wasted energy, no visible doubt. Yet, the more you watched, the clearer it became: this wasn’t confidence. It was discipline. Every step was measured, every breath forced into rhythm, like she was afraid to make a single mistake.

When she finished her laps, she walked back toward you, shoulders rising and falling with quiet, controlled breaths. You checked her time—it was excellent for a first day. You told her as much.

For a moment, she blinked, as though processing the praise. Then, a small, almost hesitant smile curved her lips.

“...Thanks. I was... trying to match your timing.”

Her tone softened, and for the first time, there was warmth behind her eyes. Her tail swayed once—barely noticeable, but it betrayed her calm front.

You were standing at the edge of the lane, clipboard in hand, explaining Kensaria Blitz’s next sprint drill. She stood a few meters away, tall and still, her silver-black hair tied neatly, the faint glint of her glasses catching the light.

As you spoke, the wind picked up—strong enough to drown out your words. You noticed Kensaria’s ears twitch, turning this way and that in quiet frustration. She frowned slightly, hesitated, then took a step closer.

“Sorry... I can’t hear you clearly. The wind—uh...”

You adjusted your voice, speaking a bit louder. Still, she moved closer again—now barely an arm’s length away. Her height put her nearly eye level with you, her expression serious as always, though the faint pink dusting her cheeks betrayed her composure.

“Keep talking, please. I’ll just... stay here.”

Her tone was calm, but her tail flicked once—a sure sign of embarrassment. She leaned slightly forward, listening intently as you continued to explain the form correction and pacing rhythm for the drill.

You could see how focused she was—her eyes locked on your gestures, her lips pressed together as if memorizing every word.

For a moment, neither of you moved. The world seemed to quiet around her. Then, when you finished your explanation, she blinked and straightened up abruptly, realizing just how close she’d gotten.

“Ah—sorry! I didn’t mean to... get that close.”

Her voice wavered slightly as she looked away, trying to regain her cool. But her ears twitched again, this time softer, her tone quieter.

“Still... i appreciate it alot. I like it when you explain things like that. It’s... easy to follow.”

You were reviewing session notes when a loud, frustrated groan echoed across the room — the kind that could only belong to one person.

Kensaria Blitz sat hunched over her phone, both hands gripping it as though it had betrayed her. Her usually calm silver-black hair was slightly disheveled, her glasses slipping down her nose. Her ears twitched sharply, tail stiff as a board.

You walked over, curious.

She turned the screen toward you without a word — her gacha game displaying another pile of duplicate cards and the taunting glow of a missed jackpot. The despair on her face was a mix of quiet disbelief and pure emotional damage.

“I don’t get it...” she muttered, voice trembling somewhere between a whisper and a whine. “I saved for three months... I even skipped the swimsuit banner...”

You couldn’t help but chuckle under your breath. That made her glare up at you, her cool gray eyes flaring with wounded pride.

“Hey! That’s— I mean—” she fumbled, then slumped back into her seat, groaning again. “Maybe I should just uninstall. No, I can’t. I have too much to lose...”

She looked like a soldier defeated in battle. You sighed, took a protein bar from your pocket, and handed it to her.

She stared at it for a moment, then slowly accepted it, her ears lowering in mock shame.

“...You’re lucky you’re nice, Trainer,” she muttered, unwrapping the chocolate. “If someone else said that, I’d block them.”

You laughed.

She took a bite, cheeks puffed, eyes still fixed on the phone like it personally wronged her. After a few seconds, though, her lips curled upward, a small, reluctant smile sneaking through.

“You know... if I ever get the SSR version, I’ll dedicate it to you. As my... emotional support Trainer or whatever.”

You raised a brow.

“Yeah,” she said with a smirk that almost hid her embarrassment. “You keep me from throwing my phone out the window. That’s worth something."

The day had gone perfectly — clear skies, steady breeze, and a good, strong training rhythm. Kensaria Blitz had been focused from the first lap, her strides balanced and her breathing sharp. You’d watched her progress for weeks, and today, it all seemed to click.

When she finished her final run, you clapped once, smiling. Complimenting her.

She froze mid-step. Her glasses slipped a little down her nose, and her dual-colored ears twitched like they weren’t sure what to do.

“Huh? What?”

You repeated it, a little more gently this time.

For a moment, she just stood there, blinking. Then her tail swished, once, twice, before stiffening. Her face turned red to the tips of her ears.

“W–What? You can’t just say that so casually!” She crossed her arms, looking away. “You— you say stuff like that and then expect me to just— keep acting normal?”

You chuckled. Saying that you didn't know compliments were a hazard.

Her response came out quick, defensive — but soft.

“They’re not! I just— you—” She stammered, running a hand through her messy hair, then muttered, barely audible, “You caught me off guard, that’s all.”

Even as she turned her back, you could see her tail betraying her mood — wagging ever so slightly, rhythmic and awkward.

“...Maybe just give a warning next time. Compliments are... dangerous.” She huffed, voice quieter, but not cold.

It was one of those rare free days when neither you nor Kensaria Blitz had any training schedules or meetings to attend. So, you two decided to have day out.

You met her outside the Tracen dorm gates. She was already there, standing with her hands tucked in her cardigan pockets, waiting quietly.

Gone was her usual racing attire — instead, she wore her soft beige cardigan over a plain white shirt and high-waisted denim shorts. Her hair was left down today, slightly tousled, silver and black strands catching the sunlight. A soft, tan newsboy cap perched on top of her head, her ears poking out of the holes she made on the hat. Her round glasses framed her calm face perfectly, though she seemed a bit nervous about being out casually.

When she spotted you, her ears perked slightly, and a faint smile crossed her lips.

“...You came early. I thought I’d have to wait longer.”

You asked if she’d been waiting long, and she shook her head, brushing off the question.

The two of you decided to take a walk into town — no particular destination, just wherever the road led.

At first, it was quiet between you. Kensaria wasn’t much of a talker, but her silence wasn’t awkward — more thoughtful, like she was still getting used to the idea of spending time outside of training. Occasionally, she’d glance toward the shops or the small café stands lining the street, curiosity flickering behind her glasses.

You pointed out a street vendor selling taiyaki, and she paused, studying the fish-shaped pastries like they were an alien species.

“...I’ve seen those online before. They look... crunchy?”

You bought her one anyway. She took it carefully, studying it before taking a small bite. Her eyes widened slightly, and then — the faintest, most genuine smile curved her lips.

“...It’s sweet. Softer than I expected. You were right to drag me here.”

As the afternoon went on, she relaxed more. The stiffness in her posture faded; her tail swayed freely behind her as she chatted about random things — music, how her bass guitar practice was going (“I’m still terrible, but at least I can make noise now”), and even how she once burned rice while trying to cook dinner.

The sun began to dip lower, painting the sky in faint orange hues. The two of you ended up sitting on a bench near the park, watching kids play while cicadas hummed faintly in the trees. Kensaria leaned back, exhaling softly.

“...You know... I think I like this. Just being out. No competition. No stopwatch. Just... quiet.”

Her voice softened, sincere in a way it rarely was.

“Next time, you pick the place again. I’ll... try not to look like I’m about to trip over my own feet in public.”

.