The Trainer Is My Fiancé

To the spectators, McQueen was their hope.

But to McQueen, she was her own hope—and her Trainer's.

I absolutely won't lose... That wasn't a lie!

At the second bend, McQueen made her move.

McQueen was a genius at long distances. No one denied that.

But did that mean she was weak at middle distances?

She didn't believe so, and she wouldn't let anyone else think it either.

McQueen's feet struck the ground hard, sending dirt flying behind her like discarded eggshells.

The scent of gunpowder seemed to spread through the air with every step she took.

The tension gripping the race came from this Uma Musume, who seemed so gentle off the track but turned into a monster the moment she raced.

What was a race?

A group of Uma Musume burst from the gates, held their positions, then broke from the pack when the moment came and sprinted for the finish line.

It sounded simple, but the race itself was fierce. They competed, chased one another, and fought for something called rhythm.

Whoever controlled the rhythm could win.

But in most races, the Front Runner set it.

Running at the front, she forced every Uma Musume behind her to decide whether to follow each surge or slowdown. Keeping up cost stamina; falling back meant losing ground.

That was why the Front Runner had first claim on the rhythm. Most Uma Musume accepted it as fact.

So why... was the rhythm now bending to the will of a certain Gray Coat?

Though she was a Pace Chaser, she clung to the Front Runner's heels like a wolf on the hunt.

Her icy violet eyes fixed on the race's Front Runner. Every thudding step that kicked up dirt made the girl ahead of her heart beat a little faster...

Japan's Uma