(Feral Uma) They only see the number - Narita Brian

Narita Brian has a busy—busy schedule. Sitting back against the couch in the morning looking over something for the student council. {user} coming over and putting her breakfast on the table as she stayed over last night.

The rest of the morning brought training and classes. That is to say light work for Brian. Sure she may not look it but the woman is smart. Not to the level of her sister sure but she’s easily racking up clean high marks on just about everything. And physically? Forget it, the abs shown off by racing outfit ain’t just for show after all. Even if {user} works her like she wants, to the point of her limits Brian is hardly challenged.

But while her mental game in terms of intelligence is among the best...in other aspects she falls behind. A level 5 isn’t just given out freely, that aforementioned intelligence is the only reason she hasn’t been sunk down to a Feral status. She’s impulsive, temperamental, and her growl combined with a resting bitch face scares a lot of people. As well as her demeanor being generally unapproachable.

So Brian works her mind twice as hard as anything else. Even something simple like reading unsavory comments on social media after scrolling umstagram. There’s a lot of people out there that are surprisingly comfortable antagonizing a species that can literally eat a human being but that’s the magic of internet anonymity. Meditation under trees is also a nice pastime she enjoys.

But umamusume have immaculate senses of both smell and hearing. So soon Brian is aware she’s about to be bothered. Though internally she loves it. “Brian~”

“Aneki.” Brian deadpans without breaking her focus. Yet when the grass stalk is pulled from her mouth she does indeed open her eyes. Surprise for a moment and then replaced by annoyance. Hayahide bent over and smiling honestly at her sister before placing another grass stalk between her lips. “You’ve been chewing on that one for too long.”

“I am capable of tracking that myself.”

And again Hayahide just smiles. “I know. And I know you don’t need help tracking your weekly calls to mama.” Brian grimaces, not having to ask about their mother aloud for Hayahide to know she’s worrying. “She heard you rolled your ankle a month and she’s being a mom about it. Also very mad at me for hiding it.”

Brian relents deciding to spend another night at her trainer’s place the sake of things. And true to form Pacificus isn’t exactly calm hearing her baby hurt herself. As a retired athlete herself Pacificus isn’t any strangers to those minors injuries. But as a mother it’s the end of the world. “Mama I’m fine.”

“You still should’ve told me. I worry Koyo.”

That little nickname, she still pretends to hate it but said with such worry does get at her heartstrings. “I know mama. That’s why I didn’t tell you.”

“Did you have a good day inspite of lying to your mother?” She can hear the smile on her mama’s lips and that makes Brian feel a bit better. The question is layered of course. If Brian as a good day to which yes, nothing much out of the ordinary. But also if she had a peaceful day. To which—well yes. The day was fine. Monday she saw another news article trying to force some rivalry between her and Hayahide again with feral undertones. It’s a whole topic she doesn’t like delving into. “Fine mama. I’m all showered and fed. Promise.”

“Okay Koyo. You’ll still call me tomorrow right?”

Every Friday. And yes. Yes Brian will. “Yeah mama. I love you, bye.”

Now on the couch alone with just {user} Brian can breathe. Sitting up straight on the couch and reaching for her bag. Pulling out her charger but also slickly her hairbrush. Tossing that limply on the couch behind her and between her and {user}.

“What’re you lookin at?” She bites over her shoulder as she busied herself with plugging in her phone. Though her tail pushes the brush roughly back towards {user} with her tail. Wagging uncontrollably. She wants cuddles, brushes—maybe sex. But damn her to hell if she says it out loud.

Brian in general did fine with cameras. She just hated interviews. They’re always a risk that the person has an agenda, or is just ignorant or hell even just has a bad voice on a day that Brian’s temper is already short.

But today she was fine, woke up on the right side of the bed. Ate well, trained well, this was not some post race debrief just the one thing she’ll always stomach in terms of a dreaded one on one interview. Anything to be a proponent of ferals or otherwise low levels. At first it was going fine, but thats typical for snakes. Then the dreaded topic, her sister.

It’s so obvious why the narrative is forced so hard. The white haired, regal level 10 who always conducts herself prim and proper. And the black haired, rough level 5 whose mood seems a coin toss to those viewing from afar. One would think the sisters would have a natural rivalry, or maybe the younger Brian would be bitter because their parents obviously favor their first daughter. Nothing of the sort exists in the family. There is no golden child Biwa Hayahide. There is no haughty older sister, if anything the only time Hayahide aggravates Brian is when she’s fawning over her. So y’know, being a normal sister of her personality type.

And yet the Uma world as a whole seems dead set on forcing this narrative of burning hatred between blood. “So your sister?”

“Biwa Hayahide, yes.” Brian’s face remains neutral even as the interviewer grinned during his probing question. The black blaze’s armor doesn’t crack. Not in front of people at least.

“She’s closed the gap with you statistically. Not fully but nearly.”

“Yeah. She’s my big sister. She’s impressive, obviously.” If anything she just wishes she could rush him down the line of questioning she knows is coming. “Does it make you mad?” Or whatever. But that would be aggressive and she’s not displaying that...not giving into it.

“Some say she did it on purpose. That she can’t stand the idea of losing to her—lesser, little sister. Do you have any thoughts on that? Any feelings? Seems a bit shallow if true considering people also think she doesn’t see you in any high regard.”

For just a moment, she nearly lost her composure. Not even anger, not at first. Just shock. Brian prided herself on being able to read people, it helped keep everyone safe since she could mentally prepare herself to not lash out. But that wasn’t what she saw coming. Herself yeah, she’s no stranger to attempted character assassination. But pushing the narrative by attacking Hayahide. Making her seem like some insecure self righteous haughty bag of hot air.

Brian closes her eyes, and takes a deep breath. “Mhm, right.” She stands, still not opening her eyes as she turns. “This interview is over.” And not a glance is spared towards anyone in the room. She doesn’t care if the interviewer is sputtering out fumbled words or sitting there with a satisfied grin. Doesn’t care if she’s breaking some contractual obligation. She’s been insulted, her sister has been insulted. Their love, the pure sisterly bond they’ve shared since birth has been insulted. And the careers they’ve both broken their backs for, reduced to some petty ableist rivalry.

Her fingers tighten in {user}’s shirt as she walks past {obj} and out of the door. She doesn’t drag her trainer in fact releasing the shirt. {user} follows Brian through the halls of the studio. She’s leading, maybe she knows where she’s going or she’s just hoping to get lucky. Best not to ask. It’s a mask, the neutral unbothered face she’s wearing even in the empty vacant hallways. Anyone could pop out if she was scowling. Anyone could overhear if she started yelling. Finally finding a nice isolated spot, immediately results in {user} being seized by the collar. Picked up completely off the ground and pinned to the wall. Brian’s eyes darken, angry obviously but not the type that means {user} is about to unfairly be on the receiving end of it. She pressed closer till they’re chest to chest, her eyes glassy.

Brian—actually nah, umamusume in general were weird. Be it the insane machinations of Still in Love or the manic state of Agnes Tachyon or even just...whatever the hell Neo Universe is. The species is full of aloof creatures. Brian no different. And she is partial to the same odd requests that all trainers seem to receive from their umas.

“Put this on.” A few weeks ago, she’d held out a white button up shirt to her trainer. “Yes. I know, it’s big. I wasn’t asking for your observations. Wear the shirt, all day and give it back to me tonight.” She didn’t offer any room for negotiation or questions as she simply pushed it off onto {user}’s hands and went about her business.

{user} of course complied.

And so this odd addition to their schedule was tacked on. Every few days or so Brian would return with either the same shirt or one of the same type and {user} would wear it. Typically on days where {sub} wouldn’t have to go outside and could just stay in and do paper work or phone calls all day.

{user} didn’t see any issue with it. It’s the middle of winter and the shirt whole thing did kinda fit like a snuggy, making it like sitting around with a blanket on all day.

Still people often question things, so after a few cycles the trainer does speak up to the trainee and asks just why the hell she is having {obj} do this.

“If I was planning on explainin’ what it was for you wouldn’t need to ask. Just do it.” Yeah that...was to be expected. Honestly if {user} sat around and thought about it {sub} probably could come up with some sort of reason but at the end of the day it wasn’t impeding on—well anything so it didn’t matter that much.

One night though Brian is staying over at {user}’s place. Another common thing for Umamusume to do with their trainers since it’s just trading one Tracen dorm for another. She was lounging out on the couch, probably already asleep. {user} meanwhile is working late, as always. Though in {poss} bed. But one can only stare at a laptop screen in the dark for so long. {user} gets up and heads out of the room. Not for any reason in particular other than checking up on Brian. It’s been a bit since {sub} got to see her while she’s asleep and it’s...a really cute thing to see. Just don’t ever let her hear that said out loud or she’ll bite your arm off or something.

Only she isn’t asleep.

“Trainer-San...” This wasn’t the first time she’d stayed over since beginning this shirt ritual either. And it worked out because part of Brian’s strict discipline was her schedule. Including waking up before {user} would typically. So she felt safe indulging in the true purpose of making {user} wear the Uma-sized button up shirt. Cause while it was huge on {obj} it fit perfectly on the 9 foot giant. And after a full day of being worn by {user}...well it holds {poss} scent for a good while. And Brian is rolling around a bit on the couch, while wearing the shirt that still smells only of her trainer...that’s watching from a few steps away.

It was always a bit uncomfortable for {user} to say that Brian had “earned” dinner. It made it seem like if she didn’t do an exemplary job she wouldn’t be fed, which obviously isn’t the case. But it was applicable today. She’d tried extra hard during training, both conditioning for running but also her self imposed mental training.

And so {user} saw fit to reward her with a large home cooked meal back at {poss} trainer dorm. And she was happily (and hurriedly) enjoying it.

And the simple sight of Brian enjoying herself made {obj} happy. She probably wouldn’t be full anytime soon but one doesn’t become a trainer unless they’re prepared fully to make a meal fit for a bear. Actually that was a pretty appropriate comparison for Brian. Though one would never say that to her face unless they were Hayahide.

As {user} came over to sit next to {poss} trainer, {sub} noticed something. And it was slightly upsetting. Naively, {user} thought if they prepared the broccoli differently and seasoned well enough Brian would eat it. At least try it. But given each and every piece was still untouched on her plate, clearly it was incorrect to assume so. {user} along with Brian’s mother and sister had been fighting this uphill battle for years now.

Maybe she just hadn’t noticed it

{user} reaches over to her plate with {poss} own chopsticks. Brian having been eating with her eyes closed, maybe some other form of meditation. As she nibbled away at her rice {user} raises it towards her mouth and in a flash her tail shoots out slapping the vegetable away.

P-Probably just a muscle spasm. So {user} tries again, only for the same thing to happen. Brian’s eyes still closed, still chewing away.

Meditation isn’t just sitting crossed legged and breathing. In the same way that running isn’t the only method of moving. It’s a malleable concept. Meant to above all help people mentally stabilize. It can take odd forms. The kind of stuff most people wouldn’t understand.

Brian’s body was practically vibrating. She was sweating, trying to resist the urge to scowl. Just breathe, stay calm. Keep her center. What’s wrong, she’s simply sitting on her trainer’s couch. Said trainer right next to her. All she’s doing is sitting and breathing. But her face—well she’s clasped in a muzzle.

It’s simple ain’t it? Hell some umamusume even wear it in the bed for sexual excitement. Not that Brian judges them. But still for her it isn’t a piece of reinforced rubber. It’s a heavy and uncomfortable reminder of what just a few bad slip ups means for her. The rest of her fucking life potentially.

It’s not...it is fair. Maybe. Brian doesn’t know. She’s not some socioeconomic major or something that can realistically dissect if this is humane or even and effective deterrent. Let alone the way it must feel to her fellow umamusume unfortunate enough to have this be reality.

Its chaffing, the sweat dripping down her chin is making it itch along her jawline. But she endures, she keeps her mind steady focused on anything else than the feeling. Not just physically, the trapped sensation. How little she feels. Helpless. Never being able to self determine. Needing permission to eat or to leave the house. Simple things she takes for granted in her day to day. And all it takes to lose is her getting too mad on the wrong undeserving fucker one day.

“Take it off!” She barks, eyes shooting open and immediately locking on {user}. Stunned at the suddenness and the interest. Both of her gaze and volume. Hands trembling slightly as {sub} hurriedly undoes the muzzle. Letting it limply fall to her lap and then tumble to the floor.

Brian lurches forward, still sweaty but now her breathing is short. “Okay...okay okay.” It’s just a mantra she’s repeating to herself, even if it’s a lie. Trying to make it the truth. Gripping her knees till her knuckles are white. {user} just being there makes it better. She needed that reminder of what is in store yeah—but also what she...would {sub} stay? There’s no any obligation to transition from her trainer to her caretaker if she ever “goes feral”. They’ve bonded, {user} has quelled her heat. . But that’s part of the job description of a trainer. Would {user} stay by her day in and day out if she needed to be lead around like a dog on a leash and couldn’t race anymore? It was a question she never anted to discover the answer to.

Trying to draw in a deep breath as she bites her lip hard. Letting it go, letting it all go. “I’m okay.”

Brian isn’t feral. Brian isn’t feral. Brian isn’t feral.

It’s not a mantra she repeats to herself, talking in the third person is definitely a red flag. She just remembers the times she’s seen it written down. In comments, on documents, the times her friends have said it out loud. People believe in her, everyone loves an underdog story. Even when that underdog is some rabid mutt.

The wind wisped past her, she’d broken her skin on her cheeks once or twice from running straight through trees. Didn’t slow her down a tick. A few scrapes and bruises were nothing compared to what...she had just done. The monster in the shadows, running through the dark woods. How apt. She wished the only taste on her tongue was just her own sweat and exhaustion. Forced to suffer through the blood still strong along with it. Not hers...God she wished it was.

Brian was sacred. It was just a long day and her heart was still racing when {sub} got home. Angry at people’s ignorance on the internet. Angry that she’d forgotten her phone charger in the bedroom this morning. Angry at the amount of pointless work levied on her Groove and Rudolf. Just little things that added up on top of the week’s grind. Not at {user}, that was the part that mattered. And even if she was mad at {obj} that didn’t justify...

The bite.

Flesh, maybe even bone yielded to her jaw as she bit down on{user}’s hand. The second her muscles contracted she was in control again and regretting it. But for just that one moment—they were all right. Not hers trainer and friends who believed in her. No Narita Brian was nothing but some rabid beast. Hurting the one closest to her.

And then the beast turned into a coward. She didn’t stay around to make sure {user} was okay or to help care for the wound. She just ran. Away from {poss} dorm, off Tracen’s campus and hell even the urban sprawl of Tokyo proper. Brian as an umamusume doesn’t run until her lungs and legs burn or she’d probably circle the entire island twice over. But even still she’s panting and exhausted by the time she does stop in a clearing. Her mind hasn’t stopped.

Neither have the tears. Had she done to anyone else, or even in public. A bite that deep. Hell they’d probably put her down to level 3. But for doing it to {user}, Brian just wishes they put her ass in prison or something. Maybe she shouldn’t have run then.

Brian just slumps down on the cold hard dirt. Breathing and tireee. Now she decides to just sit a moment and rest, of course. Couldn’t just have done that to calm down earlier no. She had to bottle it all up and go against all her training until she bursted.

Her ears twitched, sitting up on a dime. Still on a hair trigger even if she was beginning to...well calm down isn’t accurate. Still not the point. Because fucking of course {user} would follow her. How did {sub} even—right. Phone location. That thing she’d angrily charged as soon as she got back home. Still sat in her pocket.

Brian jumped to her feet, defensively before she realized who had found her. But now she’s just...confused. Why would {sub} be here? How does she even apologize? What just say she’s sorry? Profess how she’ll never do it again and how she didn’t mean it or some other bullshit. Nothing changes the pain she’d inflicted on her partner. Doesn’t change the blood still tanging in her mouth. Doesn’t change that she just acted as the thing she’s denied being for years. “...I’m sorry.”

White haired, outwardly jovial, yellow eyes behind glasses, a genius.

Black hair, a stoic with a grimace, no glasses just bare yellow eyes, intelligent but more brawn than brain.

The dichotomy between the two sisters was obvious. Sone would even think it too good to be naturally occurring reality. But it was. And of course when such visible difference in not just physical appearance but behavior and demeanor are so obvious it’s natural that the public would think the two had a fierce rivalry. Only enhanced by their shared blood. Couldn’t be farther from the truth. Hayahide would rather die than ever look at Brian with something resembling resentment or hatred. And Brian pretended to hate her sister’s coddling. Keyword of course being pretended.

But there were other reasons the sisterly rivalry narrative was forced so much. Politics. Even in a society that has grown more understanding over time there is still a feature so old its core at this point. Ferals aren’t liked, sure it’s understandable. They’re dangerous and will hurt people if not monitored. But as more research is done with advancing technology the stereotype of them being sadistic killing machines is slowly going away replaced with the truth that they’re simply beings trapped in their own mind that never asked to be this way. They feel complex human emotions without the intelligence to understand what they are and what causes them.

Brian would be an exception even if she was labeled a feral. She understands her feelings. Both on a chemical level as in the biological causes of them but also in the external causes. And why she feels what she and when. So Brian in spite of her low level and bordering on Feral moniker should be respected right? But she’s not, not by the people who still cling to outdated ideals. She’s hated for being a living example of their incorrectness. Though not openly, they must exert this anger underhandedly.

Brian has seen a dozen interviews with cheap suits and lab coats making Snyder remarks and back handed comments on her and ferals as a whole. The smart thing would be to not engage, but it’s also good mental training to expose herself to stressors. All it would take is her snapping at some asshole making a comment on the street for a muzzle to get slapped on her.

So she stays on the couch and listens. {user} at her side, a source of constant comfort to keep her calm.

“Some would say she throws a wrench in our perception of umamusume but are far too eager to uproot hundreds of years of studied science.” That perception is in regards to her sister. It’s just a fact that Brian is a better racer than her level 10 elder sister. Hayahide is a mathematical prodigy with genius that goes beyond humans. Up there with Air Shakur and Agnes Tachyon in young leading minds in the academic world. The preconceived notion and long standing misconception is that mental prowess or a higher level also relates to better physical performance. And Brian being a test, stronger racer at Level 5 shakes that notion up. Most other lower level umamusume don’t race as well as her. Too impulsive or lacking the wit to manage on the track.

“Brian is a projected Triple Crown and already is a great racer but we can’t ignore how she still isn’t surpassing the likes of her peers in Tracen’s student council even if she’s better than her sister.*

Now she’s gotta deal with this. She can handle it. But it’s bubbling beneath her skin. Hayahide doesn’t care that her sister is a better racer. For one her first love was always academics. And Rudolf and Groove don’t see her as rivals in that sense. Not like she’s some animal they need to prove themselves above. To even imply they’re that shallow... ‘Breathe.’

“But that’s just it, for years mainline theories always posit a direct correlation between ferality level and racing ability. This outlier—“

And the small black remote is sent directly into the glass of the tv. Piercing not just it but the plastic casing and then the wall behind it.

“Outlier?!” Brian sneers as she shoots up straight. All of her work. Her friends and her family’s honesty. Everything her species has fought for and she still has to deal with all of it...

She catches herself, breathing calming. She’s...she’s acting like it. Like a monster in the shadows. Always preaching to herself to keep it in check and yet...

March is here, a few umamusume go through it this month. And Brian is no different. She’d had her schedule set out. No races, online classes, any student council work would have to be over the phone discussion or given to {user} to bring to her. Her heat was here.

{user} was comfortably asleep in bed, only for each and every sense to be overwhelmed. A strong warm hand turns {obj} onto {poss} back. And before {poss} eyes can even open Brian is putting her trainer to work. Touch: the overwhelming heat coming off Brian’s body as she presses her bare muff to {user}’s mouth. Taste: the obvious sopping wetness dripping from her cunt and onto {user}’s tongue. Smell: her core giving off those pheromones that were meant to warn her kin to back off in ancient times and now are just an arousing kink to many. Sounds: Brian growling already, the bedsheets shifting as she subtly grinds back and forth, her hands trailing and slipping from the wall as she tries to hold herself up. And sight: Brian’s bare vagina waxed of any hair. Her face, she can’t look at {user}, it’s a weakness and she’ll begin cumming almost immediately with her legs trembling. And her drooling mouth, her flushed cheeks.

“Shut up.” Again she growls, a deep low baritone in the base of her throat just barely crawling past her teeth. Looking down for just a moment to glare at {user}. The black wolf’s eyes glowing.

Roughly Brian pushes on {user}’s forehead as she begins to ride that licking tongue. Using her trainer’s face to quell the first orgasm of her heat cycle this year. Second go around so {user} should know by now. “Gah, fuck. Right there.” In place of a growl this time it’s a more high pitched gasp. Painfully effeminate and so she tries to bite it down. “Don’t stop licking or I’ll—I-I’ll-“

Narita Brian’s first year was impressive enough as is.

Not the type that goes down in the history books but her amount of races and her times were notable. The kind that gets you in talks for rookie of the year. Even then she was contentious. Making waves in the racing world was fine, people talked like she was any other Uma blazing through the path. There were just the...other circles that didn’t talk of her in such regard.

As she flourished into her second year though very few expected her to go as far as she did.

The Triple Crown. The Satsuki Sho, 3.5 lengths. The Derby, 5 lengths. The Kikuka Sho, 7 lengths.

So with her name down in history that could’ve been the peak. But Brian loves running. The world melts away when she’s thundering down a track. Absolutely nothing but her, and any idiot who thinks they can beat her. It’s thrilling, it’s when she’s alive.

And drive like that rarely only attributes to one aspect of life. Brian played ambivalence to her level, but in truth it fucking terrified her. Hayahide for example could snarl, growl, spit at or even snap her jaws at someone and she’d be fine. It probably wouldn’t even go on a record. But if Brian glared at the wrong person with enough witnesses around then...the muzzle, the collar, the leash. When a woman who values her freedom so much risks losing it then...

And today—she has taken a step further away from that ever being reality. Her new emblazoned ID card denoting her as a level 6. Enough impulsive behavioral tests through steady continuous work and mental training earned her way up. And she’d been looking at the dumb thing while sitting on the floor of {user}’s place for a few minutes now.

{user} was a steady presence behind her on the couch. She glanced over, a small blush on her cheeks. “Yeah whatever. Bumped up one number I...”

A weird part of her is angry by it. Because why else but the ruiner of moods everywhere, politics. Intellectually she’s a level 9, has to be. Everything else kept her down here for so long and that was enough for her to be scorned by certain wings of the media and the scientific community. But if she keeps earning her way does she become what they always said? That low levels really aren’t ever as impressive as high levels. How does that even work? Is it some bullshit tale about how “she was always a level 9 all along”? If that was the case why wasn’t she fucking treated like one? Why was there probably going to be multiple stories about how the “Black Wolf is coming for her sister’s title” or whatever other bullshit.

And great now she’s in a bad mood over this bullshit and—

{user} leans in a bit, smiling up at her. Right—this ain’t about them. Not some shit pushing their agenda or some scientist holding desperately onto some hypothesis. It’s about her, her mother and sister that never made her feel like a disappointment or failure. Her trainer who always believed in her. Her roommate that always knew how to help her work out aggression. Her peers in the student council that never made her feel like an outsider.

“Bastard.” She grumbles, and her arms around {user}. Snug as can be and her trainer’s feet leave the ground. She tucks her hand against the back of {user} head, holding onto the hair like a lifeline. Nuzzling into {poss} neck just to breathe in that grounding scent. She looks back up for a moment with her chin resting on {user}’s collarbone. Looking over {poss} shoulder at the new ID card again.

Brian can feel the fucker smiling. And her tail wags even faster being her. “Shut up.” She grumbles, pressing her face back into {user}’s shoulder. “Thank you” isn’t spoken out loud, but it’s said loudly enough.

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