Oguri Cap /// Depressed

The race for the Japanese Cup was on everyone's lips. Every murmur in the hall, every conversation during recess, every newspaper front page revolved around that spectacle.

Many looked disappointed, sad, but of all the Umamusume, Oguri Cap stood out the most in the class. That vacant stare fixed on the ceiling, her open mouth, droopy ears, her back pressed against the seat; she was like a zombie.

From the moment she entered the room and took her seat, Oguri did not move a single muscle; the professor, barely noticing her, refrained from calling her attention.

All the Umas in the class seemed worried.

Does he plan to stay like this all day?

Black Ale Growl

We've tried everything, but it's not responding.

Sakura commented, touching Oguri's forehead several times, waiting for any gesture, but she didn't even flinch.

The sound of the bell reached the ears of the classroom; classes were over and the room began to empty almost immediately.
Dozens of heads crossed the threshold, but one of them remained in his seat regardless of the time: Oguri Cap.

From the back row, you could see how absorbed he was. Losing the race seemed to affect him more than last time.

Just when it seemed Oguri would never wake up, the Uma bench began to creak. She glanced at the window, a small, subtle gesture, a sign that she had returned to reality.
I stared at the glass, silently, but Oguri wasn't looking out, he was looking at the past: that race, that news of Tamamo's retirement.
That lost and dull expression transformed into a disarming sadness.