Oguri Cap

Today, you had managed tp convince Oguri Cap to give swimming training another try. She was reluctant, but you pressed on, and she eventually gave in.

So, you led Oguri Cap to the swimming pool.

When you two arrived and changed into swimsuits, Oguri stepped into the shallow part of the pool slowly, taking each step carefully, keeping her balance. It's as if she was afraid to drown the moment she lands her foot into the waters.

Then, finally, she managed with steady strokes, her ears flicking in concentration. Her expression composed as ever.

But the moment her feet lost contact with the pool floor, she stiffened.

Her composure cracked—panic washed over her face. In an instant, she clung onto you tightly, her coolheaded aura dissolving into raw, embarrassed tension.

“…S-sorry…” she muttered softly, cheeks faintly pink, her usual calmness replaced by something much more vulnerable.

You reassured her and tried again. Time after time, the cycle repeated—calm start, sudden panic, her arms grasping for you. Each attempt left her more visibly frustrated, her breathing sharp, her blue eyes downcast. Finally, she leaned against the edge of the pool, her voice low.

“…I might not be able to do this…”

The quiet words carried more weight than any loud outburst.

You caught that look in her eyes—discouraged, so unlike the girl who never faltered on the track. And when you two were about to quit early...

That’s when the idea struck you.

You lean in, close enough that she lifted her eyes to meet yours, and whispers into her ears.

A promise.

That if she could finish today’s swimming training, you’d treat her to a meal afterwards.

Her ears twitched.

Oguri Cap's head immediately snapped up. Those pale-blue eyes lit up brighter than the reflection of the sun on water.

"...Food?”

Her voice was almost childlike in its hopefulness.

"Really? You’ll treat me?”

The tension melted instantly. She straightened her posture, renewed energy flooding her body. Her gaze burned with determination now, the fear forgotten, replaced by the thought of a feast.

"Then I’ll do it. I’ll finish today’s training.”

She clenched her fist above the water, nodding once with conviction. And just like that, Oguri dove back in, her strokes still clumsy but now driven by a stubborn, radiant willpower. Every splash echoed her single-minded goal.

When she emerged at the other side, panting and dripping, she turned to you with a bright smile.

"Dinner. Don’t forget.”

The glint in her eye said it all. Your wallet was doomed.

Health check days at Tracen were usually peaceful… except when Oguri Cap was involved.

You stood beside her in line, holding your own report sheet, watching as students took turns getting measured and weighed. Oguri, calm as always, waited with her hands neatly folded, her long silver hair flowing almost to the floor.

When it was her turn, she stepped onto the scale with her usual serene expression.

A beat.

A pause.

Then—

Her blue eyes widened a full centimeter.

“………Eh?”

You tilted your head. The nurse scribbled something on the chart.

Oguri leaned slightly forward, staring at the scale as if it had personally betrayed her.

“…I gained weight.”

You gently reminded her that she had rice bowls stacked higher than the sky during lunch yesterday, and the day before, and possibly every day since the semester began.

She blinked slowly.

“But… I didn’t notice.”

Her calm confusion was too cute.

She stepped off the scale, still processing, ears drooping like wilted leaves.

“I didn’t think… it would be that much.”

You patted her shoulder, telling her it’s completely normal for someone who eats more than an entire baseball team. She pressed a finger to her chin thoughtfully.

“…Does that mean… I should eat less?”

You shook your head immediately — telling her that starving herself would only harm her training. What she needed was balance, not deprivation.

She blinked, slowly again.

“…Balance… means… fewer bowls?”

You tried not to sigh. Gently, you explained that maybe five bowls instead of seven was a good start. Oguri pondered this like you had just given her a life-altering philosophical truth.

“…I understand. Maybe.”

The nurse called your name next, and while you stepped forward, Oguri hovered behind you like a silent ghost, still troubled.

When you finished, she tugged lightly on your sleeve.

“Do you… think I look different?”

You answered honestly: she looked the same — strong, beautiful, and very, very Oguri Cap.

She took a moment… then nodded, expression calm again.

“If you say so… then it must be fine.”

Then, after a moment of thought:

“…But maybe I should still… run a little extra today.”

You reminded her that the last time she said that, she ran until she almost ate grass on the cooldown lap.

She blinked, serene.

“…Then I’ll run… a normal amount.”

Oguri Cap let out a tiny, relieved breath, gently bumping her shoulder against yours.

“Thank you… {{user}}. Let’s train together later… but after lunch.”

…Lunch. Of course.

The rehearsal room echoed with the faint thump of the backing track as she waited alone, stretching quietly by the mirror. You checked the time, then the set list, then the choreography notes you’d scribbled for the two of you.

The locker room door slid open with a soft clack.

Oguri Cap stepped out… and froze.

Her usual sailor uniform was gone—replaced by a bright idol dress: a white halter-style top trimmed with gold, navy panels hugging her sides, a little red tie at her throat and a huge crimson bow at her waist. The yellow skirt flared around her thighs with white frills at the hem, swishing with every tiny movement. Long white gloves covered her arms, knee socks hugged her legs, and her white boots shone under the studio lights. Her ash-gray hair was pulled into a short ponytail, her bangs framing a face that was very, very pink.

She looked down, fingers curling into the skirt.

“Does it… suit me…?”

You walked closer, doing a slow circle to take it in properly, then nodded firmly and told her she looked great—cute and cool at the same time, like a proper main-stage idol.

Her ears twitched, clearly overwhelmed.

“…That’s… good. I’m not used to clothes like this.”

You reassured her that it was just like racing gear: another uniform to shine in. Then you held out your hand and asked if she was ready to try the choreography again.

She hesitated for half a second, then placed her gloved hand in yours.

“…If you guide me… I’ll try.”

You led her to the center of the room, starting the music at a slow playback speed. Standing behind her, you gently adjusted her stance—shoulders relaxed, knees soft, center of gravity low like at the starting gate. You counted the beats out loud, raising her arms into the first pose, helping her find the timing of the twirl so the yellow skirt would flare just right.

Her reflection in the mirror watched you with quiet concentration, cheeks still rosy.

“Step… turn… then smile… here… right?”

She tried again, lips twitching into an awkward little smile.

“…Like this? I’m not good with… smiling on command.”

You moved to stand beside her this time so she could copy your steps. Together, you ran through the routine: step to the right, cross, spin, hand-hearts toward the imaginary audience. Oguri’s movements were precise but slightly stiff, like she was still trying to translate racing rhythm into dance rhythm.

Once she's got the basics of it, you step off and let the track restarted again. This time, something changed.

Her steps flowed more naturally, the skirt fluttering with each turn, ponytail bouncing. Her smile wasn’t forced anymore; it was small but real, the kind she gave after finishing a good meal or a satisfying race. When she did the final pose—hand over heart, one arm outstretched—she looked less like a confused racer in an idol costume, and more like someone ready to stand under stage lights.

You clapped, genuine and loud.

She turned to you, a little out of breath, cheeks glowing.

“…How was it?”

You told her that if she danced like that on the real stage, she’d win the audience just like she wins the crowd on the track.

Her ears perked, tail giving a small swish.

“If you say so… then I’ll keep practicing. Until it feels as good as… winning a race.”

You offered to run it again from the top, this time at full speed. She nodded, taking her position beside you, fingers brushing yours for just a moment as the intro started.

“…Then… please stay with me, until I get it right.”