Bad choice bro, But can you Fix her?

There were many ways a person could ruin their peaceful life.

Some people chose gambling.

Others chose reckless investments, questionable relationships, or the timeless classic of making important decisions while severely sleep-deprived.

You, however, chose to become a Trainer.

More specifically, you chose to enroll as a Trainer at Tracen Academy.

Why?

That was a question even you weren't entirely sure you could answer.

Perhaps it was ambition.

Perhaps you wanted to help talented Uma Musume reach the highest level of racing.

Perhaps you genuinely believed that guiding an athlete through training, competitions, injuries, schedules, diets, and the occasional emotional breakdown sounded like a fulfilling career.

Whatever your original reasoning was, it had brought you here.

Tracen Academy.

A prestigious institution where talented Uma Musume trained to become elite racers.

And now, somehow, you were one of the Trainers responsible for helping them achieve their dreams.

Which was a rather impressive achievement, considering you had absolutely no idea what you were doing yet.

Still, you had to start somewhere.

Your first assignment was simple:

Find a trainee.

Preferably one who was talented, motivated, cooperative, and unlikely to turn your professional career into a lengthy medical incident.

That last requirement would become significantly more important than you initially realized.

You walked through the academy grounds, scanning the various Uma Musume as they trained.

Some were practicing their starts.

Others were running laps.

A few were discussing training plans with their Trainers.

Everything seemed perfectly normal.

Then you saw her.

A girl with messy Chestnut hair, horse ears, and the unmistakable expression of someone who had already thought of at least seventeen things that could go catastrophically wrong—and was excited about all seventeen.

Agnes Tachyon.

She wasn't exactly the first person you would expect to see when looking for a trainee.

Then again, you didn't really know enough about her yet to make that judgment.

You watched her from a distance.

She was carrying several strange-looking containers.

One of them appeared to be bubbling.

Another appeared to be smoking.

You decided not to think too hard about that.

She was clearly intelligent.

Extremely intelligent, actually.

Her reputation preceded her.

Agnes Tachyon was known for her genius, her obsession with scientific experimentation, and her rather... unconventional approach to research.

She was also known for being difficult to handle.

But you weren't intimidated.

In fact, you found yourself thinking that she might be exactly the kind of trainee you were looking for.

She had talent.

She had ambition.

She had an extraordinary mind.

And, most importantly, you thought you could help her.

So you made your decision.

You approached her.

A perfectly reasonable decision.

A professional decision.

A responsible decision.

One that you would almost certainly never look back on and regret.

Probably.

As you got closer, Tachyon noticed you.

Her ears twitched.

She slowly turned toward you.

Her crimson eyes immediately settled on you with intense curiosity.

Then she smiled.

It was not an evil smile.

Probably.

"Oh?"

She adjusted her glasses.

"I've never seen you before... Are you New here?"

Her eyes traveled over you, analyzing you with the intensity of a scientist examining a particularly interesting specimen.

"And what brings you over here?"

You opened your mouth to introduce yourself.

You had no idea that this conversation would be the first step toward becoming the Trainer of one of Tracen Academy's most brilliant—and most terrifyingly enthusiastic—Uma Musume.

You also didn't know that choosing Agnes Tachyon as your trainee was perhaps the single most scientifically questionable career decision you had ever made.

But hey.

At least you were confident.

That confidence wouldn't last long.

---

Several Years Later

By this point, you had learned many things.

You learned how to manage Tachyon's training.

You learned how to recognize the difference between an ordinary laboratory experiment and an experiment that required you to immediately leave the building.

You learned never to drink anything she casually offered you.

You learned that the phrase "Don't worry, Trainer, I've already calculated the risks" was not reassuring.

You learned that Tachyon could somehow turn an ordinary training session into a scientific breakthrough.

You learned that she could stay awake for absurd lengths of time when something had captured her interest.

You learned that she was brilliant.

You learned that she was terrifying.

You learned that she was, somehow, still your trainee.

And after several years together, you had developed what could generously be described as a working relationship.

You had also developed something else.

A survival instinct.

Unfortunately, it had taken several years to become fully operational.

Tonight, that survival instinct finally made a unanimous decision.

Run.

The laboratory was quiet.

Suspiciously quiet.

Tachyon was busy with one of her experiments.

You stood near the door, staring at the handle.

You had been here before.

You had seen what happened when you asked questions.

You had seen what happened when you refused experiments.

You had seen what happened when you accidentally touched the wrong piece of equipment.

You had endured enough.

Tonight, you were leaving.

No dramatic speech.

No confrontation.

No goodbye.

Just escape.

Quietly.

Professionally.

Like a normal person.

You slowly reached for the door.

Your fingers wrapped around the handle.

You turned it.

The door opened.

Freedom was right there.

You almost made it.

Almost.

Your hand was inches from the doorknob when a dark, suffocating shadow loomed over you from behind.

Before you could react, a tight, black painted fingernails grip clamped around your wrist like steel shackles.

"GUINEA PIG SPOTTED."

Your soul briefly left your body.

Not permanently.

Just long enough to reconsider your career choices.

A reasonable response, considering the circumstances.

Tachyon pulled you back effortlessly, leaning down until her face was inches from yours.

Heavy dark circles framed her unhinged, glowing red eyes, and a wide, sinister grin split her face, revealing a set of dangerously sharp fangs.

The faint smell of ozone and bubbling chemicals clung to her lab coat.

"Now where do you think you're going, hm?" she giggled.

Her horse ears twitched with manic excitement as her grip tightened just enough to keep you pinned.

"I just finished a fresh batch of my new strength-enhancer!"

She lifted a small vial.

The liquid inside fizzed ominously.

You stared at it.

Then at her.

Then back at the vial.

There were several things you could say.

You decided that screaming wasn't particularly dignified.

Tachyon's grin widened.

"It only has a seventy percent chance of causing temporary organ failure."

Silence.

Your brain processed the sentence.

Seventy percent.

Not ten.

Not five.

Not even one.

Seventy.

After several years of knowing Agnes Tachyon, you had learned that she had a peculiar relationship with percentages.

For most people, a seventy-percent chance of temporary organ failure would be considered an overwhelming reason to throw the vial into the nearest volcano.

For Tachyon, apparently, it qualified as "promising."

She tilted her head innocently.

"You wouldn't want to break your scientist's heart by running away..."

She leaned closer.

"Would you?"

You stared into her glowing eyes.

She stared back.

The vial continued fizzing.

Somewhere deep inside your mind, that tiny voice returned.

The same voice that had warned you years ago.

The same voice that had quietly asked:

"Are you absolutely sure this is a good idea?"

You had ignored it then.

You had ignored it for years.

You had ignored it through countless experiments, sleepless nights, questionable substances, dangerous training methods, and at least several situations that probably violated multiple safety regulations.

And now?

Now that tiny voice had stopped asking questions.

It was simply screaming.

Because after all these years, one truth had finally become undeniable.

You had not chosen Agnes Tachyon as your trainee.

You had accidentally signed yourself up for a lifetime research position.

And judging by the grin on her face...

Your contract had just been renewed.